The table, at least, was clean. Or cleared of debris anyway. There were enough chairs for the adults. The two boys—Denny and Cal—ate on TV trays in their bedroom and played a video game, this one full of the sounds of car racing, muted just a little because Red Arceneaux had threatened to smash the controllers if they didn’t turn the damn sound down. Tobias wasn’t present. Off somewhere, Louise told them, with his friends. When Cork asked about Puck, Arceneaux said his son had come home from working the fishing boat, cleaned up, and gone to listen to a group playing at the Bad Bluff community center that evening. He didn’t know when Puck would be home.
Dinner was macaroni and cheese. The real thing, not from a Kraft box. Arceneaux and Louise had worked on it together. There were canned peas to go with it. Bud Light, Diet Pepsi, and water were the drink choices. They all took water, except Arceneaux, who drank a couple of Buds in the course of things. Louise sat at the head of the table in her wheelchair. She listened closely as Cork and Jenny and Daniel English told what they’d all discovered in that long day. There’d been a change in her since the morning. Cork could see it. She took in everything, absorbed it without reacting. It didn’t seem to Cork a showing of courage; it felt more like fatalism. She didn’t seem shocked or offended when he raised the possibility that Carrie Verga had been drawn into the sex traffic and, because of Mariah’s association with the girl, her potential involvement as well.
Instead she said, “I want to talk to Henry Meloux.”
Jenny said, “You’ve figured out the thing Mariah loves most?”
“No,” Louise said. “But if I go to him, he has to see me.”
Cork said, “When do you want to go?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What about your children?” There was a sharpness to Jenny’s words.
“I’ll watch the kids,“ Arceneaux told her. “They’ll be fine.”
“Tomorrow?” Cork shook his head. “I still have people here I need to talk to.”
“Who?” Arceneaux asked.
“The family of Raven Duvall for one.”
Arceneaux said, “You want to talk to Lindy Duvall, I’ll take you over tonight.”
“I’d like to talk to Puck, too.”
“Him you can find at the community center. The music’ll go on there until late.”
Cork had mixed his peas and macaroni and cheese, something he always did with this particular meal offering. He hadn’t quite finished, but he put down his fork and asked Louise, “Did Mariah ever say anything to you about Carrie’s father, Demetrius Verga?”
Louise said, “She talked about how much stuff he had. What a nice house he lived in and what nice cars he had, the big sailboat. You know, everything we don’t have. That was at first. After a while, she didn’t talk about him at all.”
“Do you know Verga?”
“He dropped Mariah off sometimes after she spent time with Carrie at his place. I never actually met him. Knew his wife. She was Bad Bluff.”
“She died in a boating accident.”
“Drowned. That girl couldn’t swim to save her soul.”
“Carrie drowned, too.”
“So?”
“I’m just thinking that’s quite a coincidence.”
Arceneaux said, “You think her old man had something to do with both those deaths?”
“I’m not saying anything except that I don’t put much stock in coincidence.”
“Maybe he knows something about what’s happened to Mariah?”
“I don’t know that. But he’s another reason I’d like to stick around awhile.”
Louise said, “I want to see Henry Meloux. I have to see him.”
“A day, Dad,” Jenny said quietly. “Mariah’s been gone a year. What difference can another day make?”
On the surface, the argument was sound. But Cork felt like he was getting somewhere in Bad Bluff, and he didn’t want to leave the investigation hanging, even for a day. On the other hand, he wanted something from Meloux, too. So maybe it would be best to return to Tamarack County. For a day.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
Jenny offered to help with the dishes, but Louise said that if they wanted to talk to Lindy Duvall, they should go. She’d make sure things got cleaned up. Cork had his doubts.
Arceneaux rode with English. Cork and Jenny followed in the Explorer. The sun was still up, but just barely. The shadows were long, and the day had a tired feel to it. They passed through Bad Bluff, passed the community center, where the doors were open and Cork could hear bluegrass music coming from inside. He wanted to get back to Puck before things there wrapped up.
They pulled up in front of a duplex that looked like an old BIA construction. The paint was flaking and the grass of the yard needed cutting. But there was no junk despoiling the property. Cork didn’t want to overwhelm Lindy Duvall with a lot of strangers descending on her, so he and Arceneaux approached the house together while Jenny and English stayed in their vehicles. Arceneaux knocked on the door, and it was opened by a kid no more than ten years old.
“Your mama home, Wade?”
The boy had big dark eyes and a mop of black hair and a streak of what looked like chocolate ice cream across his cheek. He shook his head and said, “Unh-uh.”
“Know where she is or when she’ll be back?”
“Unh-uh.”
The television was on inside, and Cork thought he heard SpongeBob SquarePants, a cartoon he sometimes watched with Waaboo, which, to his chagrin, he kind of liked. He also heard a baby crying somewhere in the house.
“Anybody here with you?” Cork asked.
“Unh-uh.” The boy squinted at him and asked, “You from the county?”
“No,” Cork said. “Is your sister Raven around?”
“Unh-uh. She never is.”
“Where is she?”
“Dunno.” He gave a little shrug. Inside, the baby went on wailing.
“Is that your little brother or sister I hear?” Cork asked.
“Sister.”
“Sounds like she needs something.”
“She always cries.”
“Could I see her?”
“My mother says not to let strangers in.”
Arceneaux said, “I’m no stranger, Wade.”
The boy thought this over, gave a shrug, and let them pass.
The house was clean, at least compared to the home they’d just left. The furniture was in good shape, the curtains new-looking, the television a big flat-screen. The crying child was in a corner of the living room, holding on to the side of her playpen. Cork thought she was maybe ten or twelve months old. He lifted her and could smell immediately what her problem was.
“What’s her name, Wade?”
“Shannon.”
“Hey, Shannon,” Cork cooed. “We’re going to take care of you. Wade, do you know where your mother keeps her diapers?”
Without a word, the boy disappeared down a hallway and came back a moment later with a disposable Huggie.
“Would you get me a towel, too, and a wet washcloth?”
The boy did, and Cork laid the towel on the carpet, the child atop the towel, and did what needed to be done. By the time he’d finished, Shannon had stopped crying. He gave the dirtied diaper to Wade to put in the garbage. The soiled washcloth he wrapped in the towel and left them both on the floor next to the playpen. He’d only just accomplished all this when they heard the back door open, and a few moments later a woman walked in, carrying a couple of grocery sacks in her arms. She pulled up, startled, and then shot Arceneaux a killing look.
“What the hell’s this all about, Red? Who’s that holding my baby girl?”
“Take it easy, Lindy,” Arceneaux said. “Came to talk to you about Raven. Cork here just helped Wade out a little, changing your daughter’s diaper. That’s the whole of it.”
“You got no right coming in unasked. Wade, you let these men in?”
In the face of his mother’s anger, the boy’s eyes had grown huge, and he’d become mute.
“We invited ourselves in, Ms. Duvall,” Cork said. “Your son did his best to keep us out.”
She pushed between Cork and Arceneaux and brushed past her son on her way to the kitchen. Cork heard the grocery sacks set heavily down, then Lindy Duvall swept back in and whisked her daughter from his arms. She stepped away a safe, protective distance and snapped, “What about Raven?”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Cork asked.
“Who are you? Why do you want to know?”
“He’s a private investigator, Lindy,” Red said. “We asked him to help us find Mariah.”
Tall and tired-looking, she stood studying both men silently. Her hair was long and black and in need of a good brushing. She was a pretty woman now, but in her youth, which was a good two decades behind her, she’d probably been stunning.
“What’s Raven got to do with that?” she finally asked. She was still guarded, but the anger seemed to have drained.
Cork said, “I have reason to believe that Raven may have been the last person here to see both Carrie Verga and Mariah before they ran away last year. Raven was in Bad Bluff at the time, wasn’t she?”
“She comes, she goes. I don’t keep track.”
“She’s a model, I understand,” Cork said.
“Yes,” Lindy Duvall replied, much too quickly and emphatically.
“In Duluth?”
“I thought this was about the other girls.”
“If it’s true that Raven was the last to see them here, I’d like to find out if she has any idea where they went when they left Bad Bluff. I need to talk to her.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t know.”
“Why?”
“She just doesn’t.” The anger was returning.
“She does pretty well as a model, I understand.”
“What of it?”
“Does she send money home?”
The woman nodded. “She’s good that way.”
The child in her arms had begun to squirm, and she returned Shannon to the playpen. Wade went back to watching SpongeBob.
“Do you know the name of the agency she models for in Duluth?”
“No.” She turned her attention to her daughter, gave Shannon a toy, a plush, purple octopus that, when the child hugged it, played a soft little melody, “London Bridge Is Falling Down.”
“I made a call today to some folks I know in law enforcement, Lindy. I asked them to check on a driver’s license for Raven Duvall. They couldn’t find anything, not here in Wisconsin or in Minnesota. Are you sure she’s working in Duluth?”
“Do you have any recent pictures of Raven, from a photo shoot maybe?”
“No.”
Cork was getting nowhere, and he decided to try a different tack.
“I’ve been told that Raven took Mariah and Carrie Verga with her when she left Bad Bluff to return to Duluth a year ago. Drove off with them in that nice car of hers. Now Carrie’s dead—I’m guessing you know that—and Louise is afraid for Mariah. And rightly so. Is it possible that Raven’s in trouble, Lindy? Is there something we can do to help her, too?”
“No.” She kept her back to the men, leaning over the playpen, squeezing the octopus so that it played its soft little tune. “We’ve talked enough. I want you to go.”
“All right.” Cork pulled one of his cards from his wallet and held it out toward her. “If you think of anything I ought to know, I’d appreciate a call.”
She turned her head, saw the card, considered, and finally accepted it.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” Cork said. “It’s just that Louise is so worried about her little girl. I’m sure you can understand.”
Lindy Duvall gently touched the top of her own daughter’s head, as if in benediction. “Around here,” she said, “they don’t stay little very long.”
“Night, Lindy,” Arceneaux said, and they left the way they’d come.