See Also Deception (4 page)

Typically, I would have made my way back to the house, refilled my coffee cup, put the paper on the kitchen table to dry out, and headed to my desk. But this morning I stopped halfway to the house and considered the paper in my hand. That bad feeling I'd had after the library phone went unanswered persisted like a bad cough that couldn't be cured.

You're being silly, Marjorie
, I said to myself, then looked at Shep, who had herded the chickens up next to the garage. There was no way he was ever going to retrieve anything as long as there were chickens to put in their place.

I looked at the newspaper, the
Dickinson Press
, or the
Press,
as everyone around these parts had forever called it. I opened it gingerly, carefully, because of the dampness and because of my fear of what I would find. If something had happened at the library, to Calla, the day before, it would be in the morning paper. There was no question about that.

The headline announced a deep drop in future grain prices, mostly due to the Cuban embargo, the ongoing distrust of the Russians, and the fall of demand in Europe. I was silently relieved, even though dropping grain prices was the first thing I didn't need when it came to our finances. I was accustomed to that kind of news, to the ups and downs of farm life. My father used to say, “Some years are bedder than others, Marjorie. It all evens out,” in his sweet North Dakota accent. But there was plenty of shocking news to comprehend, to digest, of late, and that was what I'd been afraid of.

I was about to chastise myself, until my scanning eyes caught a bit of small print at the bottom corner of the paper. Even without my reading glasses, I knew it had to be what I was searching for.

A strong push of wind reared up behind me, nearly tearing the fragile paper from my hand that had, by then, started to shake. I tightened my grasp, but the paper ripped, and the front page soared up into the sky like an errant kite that had broken free from a child's careless hand.

“No!” I yelled. “No.” My words chased after the paper, overtook it on the wind, but did nothing to slow its pace. Before I knew it, the front page of the
Press
had disappeared behind the garage, out of sight.

The words that I'd read exploded in my brain and flew about just as unhindered as the newspaper page. The news might have been in small print, but it might as well have been as big as a highway billboard:

Longtime Librarian Found Dead.

My dread and concern had been right, but I didn't know the details. I could only imagine what had happened at the library. Maybe Calla had a heart attack or choked on a piece of chicken. More than anything, I hoped that death had come quick to her, that she hadn't suffered, hadn't had time to be afraid, but honestly, more than anything, I hoped the paper was wrong. I hoped for a retraction, a heartfelt apology from the editor to Calla. But I knew that was magical thinking, too. Calla Eltmore was dead. I could hardly believe it.

My yell had drawn Shep's attention to me, to the flying paper, and for a brief second I made eye contact with the dog, then gave him a little nod.

Shep tore out after the front page of the
Press
, but I was certain that he was on a fool's errand. That paper was most likely in the next county, leaving me with more questions than I needed and a sense of doom and grief that seemed to live close to my heart.

I couldn't imagine my life without Calla Eltmore in it. It was just impossible to consider such a thing. But I knew the words I'd read to be true, and I felt the emptiness of my life grow under my feet like an endless chasm had opened up, determined to draw me into its deep darkness forever.

CHAPTER 6

Betty Walsh had been a counter girl at the Rexall since she'd graduated high school. She also volunteered at the hospital as a candy striper in her spare time, which in theory made her a perfect candidate to look after Hank when an immediate need arose.

Betty was also Jaeger Knudsen's on-again, off-again girlfriend. Thankfully, at the moment, they were on again. Actually, more
on
than they should be as far as I was concerned. It was obvious to me that they were sleeping together. Not that I was a prude; sex had always been a fact of life on the farm—you could see proof of it every day if you cared enough to notice. I certainly didn't blame Jaeger for the need of comfort, but he was young and vulnerable. One mistake could alter the direction of his life in a bad way, force him into something he wasn't prepared for. Betty's life, too, as far as that went. Neither of them was ready to be a parent.

As it was, the two of them couldn't keep their hands off each other. She nearly sat in his lap in the truck as they drove about town, but it wasn't my place to say anything to Jaeger, even though I was certain his mother would have wanted me to.

But I had faith in Betty to have some sense about herself, since she worked the cash register at the drugstore. The sight of a prophylactic had surely lost its ability to embarrass her by now. Unlike some giggly girls, I was confident that she knew how to use one. There was also
the pill
to consider. It had changed everything in the last few years—Betty'd had exposure to that form of contraception, too; I was sure.

The choices created by the pill intrigued me, but they were of no immediate concern. I had no reason to try it. Sex drew none of my attention, except for the longings deep in the night, when Hank slept and I couldn't. As simple as the pill was, I thought it complicated things in ways that some of us weren't ready for, no matter how old we were. I'd never asked Betty about either form of contraception, and I never would.

I was relieved, and not at all surprised, to find Betty Walsh at ­Jaeger's house when I'd called over to see if Jaeger could call her for me. I needed to make an unplanned trip into town. Plain and simple, I had to go to the library. It was the only way I knew how to calm myself down.

Shep's ears perked up at the sound of Jaeger's pickup truck as it pulled onto our drive. It only took two seconds for the welcome bark to come out of his mouth—he knew the sound of the red International Harvester's engine as well as that of our own truck.

A black and white blur of wavy fur rushed past me and headed to the door, barking and circling as he went. Shep loved Jaeger. He seemed unsure of Betty, but tolerated her presence with cautious distance. He had let her pet him once, but only after she had magically produced a piece of beef jerky out of her pocket. I thought it was a smart thing to do to gain the dog's trust, but I felt the same way about her as Shep to be honest. I didn't know her or her family well at all. She came from out South Heart way, and I didn't mix into that crowd very often. I'd never had need to until now, so I was as leery as I was grateful.

“That'll be Jaeger,” I said to Hank.

His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling. He'd been quieter than normal since I'd told him the news about Calla.

The sequence of the day was changed by an unforeseeable tragedy again, and it was discomforting for both of us, in our own ways. Calla and Hank had never been friends, not like she and I were, but he knew how important Calla was to me. My small circle of friends had grown smaller.

“You didn't bake a pie,” he finally said.

I shrugged. “Calla doesn't have any family in town that I know of. Just Herbert, and they're just friends as far as we know. Where would I take a pie?” I had considered baking something to take with me just in case, but I'd plenty to do and didn't want to end up wasting what ingredients I had on hand, which were plenty at the moment. I had a nice mess of green apples, just like Momma liked them, sitting in a basket on the table, that would have made a wonderful pie.

“This'll send Herbert off to the Wild Pony again,” Hank said.

“I suppose it will. Whiskey calls to him something dreadful at fragile times.” Shep was relentless with his barking. On top of everything else, the demanding sound of the dog's voice grated on my nerves. “Shep, that's enough,” I snapped over my shoulder.

My admonishment did nothing to deter the collie. “Some days,” I said. My exasperation was hard to miss, and I regretted showing it as soon as I let out the long sigh after I spoke.

“Dog's a nuisance if he doesn't have a job to do. He's not like that outside,” Hank said, without moving a muscle.

It was an old argument—no animals in the house—that was not going to be addressed by me. I ignored the comment. The only reason I'd ever won that fight was because Hank Trumaine couldn't pull himself out of our bed and toss the dog out the door with the sole of his boot. Some old ways were hard to break.

I spun around to let Shep out, but I hesitated when I reached the front door. I was almost certain that the truck I'd heard belonged to Jaeger.
Almost certain
, but not sure, just like the lifecycle of the musk thistle. I
thought
Shep's bark was a welcome bark, but I could have been mistaken.

The Remington .22 was behind the kitchen door, and Hank's grouse shotgun was stuffed in the back of the wardrobe, out of sight but not out of mind. The guns were always loaded for varmints, or to ward off an overly persistent lightning rod salesman.

I opened the door slowly, only to see Jaeger and Betty heading my way. Shep bolted outside, and I relaxed my shoulders as the dog circled around Jaeger gleefully.

Betty stood back out of the way of Shep's exuberance. I could see why she appealed to Jaeger. In the soft midmorning light she looked like a young goddess who had just stepped onto the earth for the first time. She was about three inches shorter than Jaeger, making them a perfect pair for slow dancing. Her shoulder-length brunette hair was comfortably combed and could have gone from bouffant to beehive in the matter of an hour, or less, with a gaggle of girlfriends that I was sure she had to help tend to such things.

The modern look was taking over the world and had come to North Dakota via magazines and the television. From what I understood, there was a British invasion descending upon us. I wasn't sure what that meant, since I was more worried about the Russians than a quartet of mop-headed musicians. But even with a hint of the modern, there was no mistaking Betty Walsh for a farm girl. She had on a pair of well-worn denim pants and a red plaid flannel shirt that looked like it might have come straight out of Jaeger's closet. For some reason, I felt a dormant tinge of jealousy awaken and rise deep inside me when I stepped toward the two of them.

I knew I resented Betty's beauty and Jaeger's ability to walk and talk at the same time. It was as simple as that, and I felt bad for the feeling, even though I knew no way of making it go away.

“Thanks for coming over,” I said. I met them halfway to the house. “I'm sorry it's on such short notice.”

Shep stopped barking and circling and suddenly planted himself at Jaeger's ankle. It was as if he was interested in being obedient instead of the uncontrollable ball of fur that he was most of the time. I knew it was a ploy, a game to gain more attention, and Jaeger would fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

I was glad for the silence, though the wind had a voice all of its own. The wind was so common—omnipresent—and I was so accustomed to it that I barely noticed—at least until it sang in the depths of winter. Just to remind me that it was there, a hard gust pushed up my back, and I instinctively pushed my hand down to trap my simple navy blue dress against my thigh. I'd made the dress myself from a McCall's pattern. It was one of three that I owned that were suitable to go into town in, even though it had seen its better days. I hadn't had time to sit down at the sewing machine lately. Betty looked at me like I was an old lady, and she was probably right, even though I was just shy of thirty-six. I felt old. All of my friends were dying away.

“It's all right,” Jaeger said. I loved to hear him talk. He had his father's voice and his mother's eyes. I could always tell if he meant what he said. He did—his eyes never lied, just like Lida's, though he could be misinterpreted sometimes. Jaeger had been born with the pull of forceps, and that had misshaped his face slightly. He had a droopy eye and looked perpetually angry, even though he wasn't. “I was just thinkin' I needed to come over to see what kind of help you needed to store up for winter. Looks like there's some wood missin' there.”

I followed his gaze over to the slim pile and nodded. “I was going to hire that out,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Jaeger said. “I got a new man on my place. Takes more than me these days, especially with Peter away and my dad . . .” He stopped, looked down, and patted the top of Shep's head, shook off the sudden show of emotion, looked me in the eye, and kept on talking: “. . . gone from this world. We'll get you ready. No worry there, Mrs. Trumaine. Nothin' for you to worry about at all.”

If dogs could smile, Shep would have done just that, proud of his accomplishment of gaining more attention from Jaeger.

I hadn't known Jaeger had hired anyone, though it made sense that he would. The Knudsens had five times more land than Hank and I owned, and Erik, Jaeger's father, had always aspired to be an ever bigger operation than he already was. It wasn't any of my business, but the words just slipped out of my mouth like it was. “Who'd you hire?”

“Lester Gustaffson, Lloyd's nephew. You know him?”

I shook my head. “Not directly, but I'm sure he'll be a good one. All those Gustaffsons are good workers.”

“I hope so. I'm gonna have to hire two more hands in the spring, just to get everything done I need to. I'm sure hopin' Les'll be good enough to be a foreman. I only got so many hours in the day.” Jaeger looked back at Betty and smiled.

Betty smiled back but said nothing. She instinctively knew her place. I liked that, at least.

I was about to invite her and Jaeger inside and give her a rundown on Hank's needs, but a hawk flew over. The gliding shadow distracted me and drew Shep's attention.