Thumps took his time walking the bank. The day had softened. The ripples on the river still held sharp edges of light, but in the deeper pools, the water ran dark and haunting. He stopped several times, listened to a world at peace.
Not that the world was exactly silent. There was the crackle of the breeze in the grass, the song of birds he couldn’t see, the bark of an animal at play somewhere beyond the ridge.
Moses was in the shelter of a large cottonwood that had been undercut by the spring floods. The tree was still upright but leaning out into the current. He had a heavy blanket over his shoulders, and from a distance, Thumps could see where the old man might be mistaken for a bear at rest.
“Moses.”
Moses turned slowly, gave his pole a jiggle. “Ho, it’s the law.”
“Good to see you.”
“If you’re here to arrest me, I’ll have to call my lawyer.”
“I’m not here to arrest you.”
“That’s a relief,” said Moses. “I don’t have a lawyer.”
Thumps sat down across from Moses. “How’s the fishing?”
Moses lifted the pole. The lure at the end of the line flashed in the light.
“Is that a . . .”
“Roxanne gave it to me,” said Moses. “Said clip-ons were inconvenient.”
“You’re fishing with an earring?”
“She gave me a yellow one as well,” said Moses, “but the fish prefer the red.”
“There’s no hook.”
“Clip-ons don’t have hooks.” Moses’s voice was slow and patient. “The hooks are on the other ones.”
Thumps chuckled. “So, you’re not trying to catch the fish.”
“There’s good stew back at the house,” said Moses. “If I caught a fish, Scoop would want me to clean it.”
The clouds had slipped out of the sky, had piled up along the horizon. They didn’t look as though they were organizing for a storm, but Thumps knew that with clouds, you could never be sure.
“You want to give it a try?” Moses handed Thumps the pole. “Jiggle it every so often.”
“If you’re not trying to catch fish,” said Thumps, “what’s the point?”
“When Claire’s little girl fishes with me,” said Moses, “she sings to the fish. The trout and the bass and the little sticklebacks find it entertaining.”
“I’m not singing to the fish.”
“I used to sing to the fish,” said Moses, “but my voice isn’t what it used to be.”
“So, we’re entertaining the fish?” Thumps looked down into the water. “What happens when the small fry come up to look at the earring, and then the big fish come along and eat them?”
Moses pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. “Yes,” he said, “I haven’t quite worked that out yet.”
Thumps leaned back against the tree, let the day settle in around him. He could imagine a world in which you spent your days by a river, sitting with friends. But it was not the world in which he lived.
“Did you come out here to visit,” said Moses, “or do you need some of my sage advice?”
“A bit of both,” said Thumps.
“Ah,” said Moses. “Claire Merchant.”
Thumps didn’t think of Claire as Claire Merchant, and just hearing Moses say the name made Thumps think of two separate people. Claire Merchant, the former tribal chair, and Claire Merchant, Thumps’s on-again, off-again lover.
As though you could tear the woman into two distinct pieces.
Moses rolled over on his side, used the tree to pull himself up to a standing position.
“This is why there are trees in the world.” Moses stood, caught his breath. “To help old people get off the ground.”
Thumps pushed off a large root, congratulated himself on standing in one motion.
“That was impressive.” Moses brushed off his pants. “Did it hurt?”
Thumps rubbed his leg. “Just a little.”
“Claire Merchant will be a long conversation,” said Moses, “so we should probably go back to the house and have something to eat.”
“Sounds like a fine idea.”
“Maybe you can carry the blanket,” said Moses. “It gets heavy at the end of the day.”
“I could carry you as well.” Thumps smiled. “If you like.”
Moses waved him off. “I call that bold talk for a man with a sore leg.”
“John Wayne,” said Thumps. “True Grit.”
Moses moved slowly and he moved stiffly. “Actually,” he said, “it was Robert Duvall.”
THE SUN DROPPED below the horizon. The air cooled. In the distance, the mountains softened to an evening purple. As soon as they got back to the house, Moses limped over to the recliner, eased himself into the chair.
“You said there was stew?”
“In the refrigerator,” said Moses. “Pots are on the shelf, dishes in the cupboard, knives and forks are in the drawer.”
“We got any bread?”
“In the freezer.” Moses pulled the blanket across his lap. “You know that Camelot?”
“The musical?”
“They got a song about leaving in winter or summer,” said Moses. “At first, I thought it was a song about dying.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No,” said Moses, “it wasn’t. But it got me thinking.”
Thumps put the stew in the pot. Put the pot on the stove.
“You’re not going to die. You’re going to live forever.”
“The trick is making sure that you die at the right time,” said Moses. “For instance, I wouldn’t want to die in summer.”
Thumps found the bread, set it to one side.
“Summertime is for enjoying the land. Nobody wants to go to a funeral in the summer. It’s too hot to be standing around, listening to songs and stories about the dead.”
The butter was in the refrigerator. Thumps put it out on the counter, hoped that it might soften by the time the stew was ready.
“And you wouldn’t want to die in winter,” said Moses, “ ’cause the snow and the ice would keep people away. Too cold. Hard to dig a hole. Nobody wants to come to a funeral in the winter.”
“That just leaves spring and fall,” said Thumps.
“Spring is the season for everything coming to life, for being born.” Moses shook his head. “Spring would be a bad time to die. Spring is a time for enthusiasm. A funeral would send the wrong message.”
“Autumn?”
“Autumn would be okay,” said Moses. “I could fall down with the leaves.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Thumps. “Let’s eat.”
THUMPS COULDN’T IMAGINE anything much better than hot stew and fresh bread. Even if the butter was a bit on the hard side.
“In the old days,” said Moses, “we would never discuss important matters until we had had a good meal.”
“No objections from me.”
“Empty stomachs are responsible for almost as many bad decisions as religion and politics.” Moses helped himself to another piece of bread. “And we have fresh berries for dessert.”
Thumps had a second bowl of the stew. “Is this buffalo?”
“No,” said Moses. “This is elk. From last season. Leroy Little Bear brought by a haunch for the freezer.”
“It’s delicious.”
“And better for you,” said Moses. “It’s lower in saturated fats. But sometimes wild game can give you diarrhea, if your stomach’s not used to it.”
“I’ll put water on for tea.”
“Berries and tea,” said Moses. “That will put us in the mood to solve your problems.”
THUMPS WASN’T SURE why he bothered to tell Moses about Nora Gage and her disappearance. He was more concerned about Claire and Ivory.
“Ho,” said Moses, “this sounds like a three-meal problem. You may have to stay over.”
“Going to have to do with stew and berries,” said Thumps.
“Okay,” said Moses, “so, you’ve misplaced two women? That’s impressive.”
“I didn’t misplace anyone. I know where Claire went. I offered to go with her.”
“And the other woman has vanished.”
“We think she was kidnapped.”
“This is beginning to feel like a Castle rerun,” said Moses. “There’s this one channel that has all the old stuff.”
“Maybe we should stick with Claire?”
“Sure,” said Moses. “But I don’t think I can tell you anything you don’t already know.”
“I have two options,” said Thumps. “I can go to Calgary or I can stay here.”
Moses held the cup in both hands, let the steam swirl over his face. “Claire could be angry with you if you showed up in Calgary, and she could be angry with you for not coming.”
“That’s about it.”
“Too bad you don’t have a third option. A third option would probably be the right one.”
“Except I don’t have a third option.”
“All in all,” said Moses, “the lost woman might be easier to find, and probably won’t mind being rescued.”
“What would you do?”
Moses put his cup to one side. “I think I’d have another bowl of those berries.”
THE DIRT TRACK that ran down to the river bottom and Moses’s house was generally a nightmare of deep ruts and bone-rattling washboards. But one of Cooley’s many cousins had come down with a small dozer, scraped the tract smooth, and Thumps made it up to the main road with his undercarriage intact.
The way back to Chinook was a dark drive under a moonless sky. Thumps lowered his window and leaned into the night. Moses hadn’t offered much in the way of wisdom. But talking to the old man, being able to describe the two situations had helped to clarify a couple of things.
First, Claire would do what Claire would do. He didn’t have much say in that matter. So, it stood to reason that Thumps should do what he wanted to do. Maybe it was time to be more forceful and decisive. Not bend in the wind. That was it. Be the wind.
Nor had Moses much to offer on the matter of Nora Gage. At least Gage’s situation was straightforward. Claire’s going to Calgary was personal. Gage’s kidnapping was criminal.
If it was a kidnapping.
As he had explained Nora Gage to Moses, Thumps realized that he didn’t know for sure that her disappearance was a kidnapping. There were at least two other explanations.
One, she had been spooked and decided to disappear. How she expected to do this was unclear. She didn’t have a car. Didn’t know the area. Where would she go on her own? She could have staged the signs of the struggle at the villa, but why bother?
Two, Cruz felt the villa was compromised. If Thumps could find them there, so could others. That meant Cruz was lying to him about the abduction and wasting his time. Cruz could easily have moved her from Shadow Ranch to a more secure location. He had the means. He was familiar with the landscape. It wouldn’t be the first time the man from Pie Town had been less than forthcoming.
The second scenario made the most sense. But then there was the shooting. Cruz hadn’t shot himself. The only reason for the shooting was to take Cruz off the board. The shooting brought everything back to a kidnapping.
The road cleared the last rise. The lights of Chinook in the distance. And none too soon. Thumps was exhausted. He’d check his blood sugars when he got home, might have to eat something sweet, just to get them back up to level. He’d need to be awake and sharp for what was to come.
Claire Merchant and Nora Gage.
Two conundrums at large in his world. Much like the Jenga tower back at the office. Which blocks to take away, which blocks to leave in place. Pull out one, and nothing happens. Pull out another, and the whole thing falls down.
Not exactly a metaphor for life. But in lieu of something better, it would have to do.