Thumps didn’t get out of Pappous’s until late. The meal was excellent, small portions of adventurous and, for the most part, tasty food. He particularly liked the orzo and lamb pilaf, would have it again, but would pass on the lumps of bread soaked in garlic sauce.
Who would think such a dish was a good idea?
However, the price of the meal was putting up with Archie and the little Greek’s helpful analysis of Thumps’s personal life. Along with a refresher course on Greek philosophy and the Socratic method.
Archie was particularly distressed over not having been invited to Macy’s funeral. Thumps explained that there hadn’t been one, just a gathering for family.
“Duke wasn’t invited?”
“The sister organized it.”
“This sounds like a Greek tragedy,” said Archie. “They never end well.”
THE HOUSE WAS DARK. Thumps reminded himself once again that he should leave a light on, so it wouldn’t look as though the place had been abandoned. Given past experience, he half expected to find Cisco Cruz’s car parked at the curb and the man from Pie Town sitting on his porch.
Or in his living room, on the sofa, watching TV, eating his food.
Freeway and Cookie were waiting for him. Both cats were standing next to their empty bowls. As soon as Cookie saw him, the big male rolled over on his back and began licking his butt.
“Charming.”
His mother was more restrained. Freeway simply stared at him without blinking, waiting for him to figure out the crisis on his own.
“You want to be fed.”
Both cats began a low trill, a pleasant sound designed to elicit, Thumps supposed, an extra portion of Nature’s Bounty Dry Feline Rabbit Feast. There was a can of wet food in the refrigerator as well, a recommended brand that smelled like dead fish and old potatoes. It was an every-other-day treat that he might have to stretch out to every third day, so that the house and his taste buds could recover from the stink.
Okay. Claire didn’t want to move in together. And she didn’t want to get married. Which left what exactly? Friends? Good friends? Casual friends? What was the phrase? Friends with benefits? Thumps had never understood how that was supposed to work.
Normal relationships were difficult enough.
In the days when ships made their way by sail, there were particular areas in the ocean where the wind would disappear. Sometimes for days. Sometimes for weeks. Where all forward progress stopped. Where nothing happened and time stagnated.
The doldrums.
DreadfulWater of the doldrums. Floating on the sea of life. No wind in his sails. Thumps didn’t think he’d use the phrase to describe his situation. It sounded prosaic and vaguely scatological at the same time.
Thumps’s father had had plenty of wind in his sails. One day Eugene DreadfulWater was there, the next he wasn’t. Sudden and complete. Blown over the horizon. Never to be seen again.
Better to describe his situation as becalmed. As opposed to marooned or stranded. Waiting. That was it. A perfectly acceptable condition. He was good at waiting. Waiting meant he didn’t have to wrestle with choices, didn’t have to make decisions. Doing nothing. Going nowhere. Waiting to see if the wind would pick up.
In the meantime, he would stay offshore. Anchored just beyond the reef. In case Claire or Ivory needed him. Ready to sail to the rescue when the tide turned.
Some people might consider this attentiveness, this vigilance, a form of stalking. Others might see it as sad and pathetic. Thumps didn’t see why it couldn’t be both.
THE PHONE IN HIS pocket went off like a bomb. Thumps was going to have to figure out a way to mute the damn thing or at least turn down the volume.
“Hey, boss. This an okay time?”
“What’s up?”
“Scoop was worried that it might be awkward. You know, if you and Claire were . . .”
“No,” said Thumps, “it’s not awkward.”
“Because if it is, I can call back.”
Thumps tapped the phone against his head.
“Course, I can handle it myself,” said Cooley, “but I haven’t done many dead bodies.”
Thumps stopped tapping.
“Just came in,” said Cooley. “You want me to call Dr. Mooney?”
Thumps rubbed his face. “Where?”
“I’ll text you the address. You know how to text, right?”
THE ADDRESS WAS on the outskirts of town, a new development along the river. Ironstone River Estates. An enclave for folks with disposable incomes who wanted the things that disposable incomes could buy.
Thumps had seen a brochure for the place. Glossy pictures. All the buzzwords. All the amenity boxes ticked.
Exclusive. Expensive. Enormous.
Along with surveillance cameras, a guard at the main gate, an armed mobile security force to patrol the property.
Or at least that was the promise, once all the McMansions were sold. But after the initial rush, sales had stalled. It turned out that almost half the houses had been built on the flood plain, and when the county discovered the problem, they slapped an injunction on the sale of the remaining properties.
Until such time as the developers built a water wall to deal with spring runoff and hundred-year floods.
But a water wall was an expensive solution and not one that Conan & Fallon Ltd. were keen on pursuing. Nor was the corporation interested in a protracted court case. So, the captains of industry quietly closed out the remaining escrow accounts, declared bankruptcy, and scampered off to find less contentious opportunities.
All of which left the development stuck in a legal limbo, the front gate open, the security cameras and the roaming bands of paramilitaries in armoured golf carts no more than an idea whose time would never come.
THE HOUSE AT 1492 River View Road was ablaze in lights, a lump of stone and glass that sat on the river’s edge like a boil. The landscaping had been started and then stopped and then abandoned completely. There were remnants of a lawn by the front door along with several dead trees. The runoff from the rains, with nothing to slow it on its way to the river, had begun to erode the west side of the property and to undermine the interlocking brick driveway.
A skirmish that the driveway was losing.
Thumps parked his car next to a mound of dirt covered in weeds. Topsoil, he supposed, waiting to be spread and levelled. At the side of the house was a deep hole formed up with planks and rebar and wire mesh.
A swimming pool in the raw.
With construction halted, the sides of the hole had begun to slump and slide, nature’s way of filling in an annoying mistake. At this pace, by fall, the wound would be healed over and the land made whole again.
Thumps was coming up the driveway when the front door opened and an older woman stepped out.
“Selling or the law?”
Thumps opened his jacket, so the sheriff’s star twinkled in the light of the porch.
“Last time I saw a tin star like that,” said the woman, “was on Gunsmoke.”
“Thumps DreadfulWater. Deputy sheriff. Temporary.”
“I believe you’re serious.”
“I am.”
“Nora Gage,” said the woman. “Might I ask what flavour of a name DreadfulWater is?”
“Cherokee.”
“If I remember my history class, the Cherokee were in the Carolinas and Georgia until they were forced out by the U.S. government and dumped into Indian territory which later became Oklahoma.”
“You had an enlightened history class.”
You wouldn’t notice the woman in a crowd. She wasn’t tall, she wasn’t short. She wasn’t thick, she wasn’t thin. Short hair, glasses. If Thumps had to come up with a single word to describe the woman, it would have been “ordinary.”
Except for her eyes. They were clear and sharp, as though they spent their time burning holes in steel.
Thumps touched the brim of his hat. “I understand there’s a body.”
“Down by the river. Appears he fell.”
Thumps was lousy at guessing a woman’s age, and he knew it was a fool’s errand to try. But hold his feet to a fire, and he’d put Gage somewhere in her early sixties.
“Appears we have more company.”
Behind him, Thumps heard a car door open and slam shut. Angry footsteps coming up from behind. He didn’t bother to turn.
“Damn it, DreadfulWater. Why can’t you and dead bodies keep business hours.”
“Evening, Beth.”
Apparently, Cooley had gotten Beth out of bed. Or something more awkward.
“Hi, yourself. You know what time it is?”
Thumps turned to the woman. “This is Dr. Beth Mooney. Doctor and county coroner. Beth, this is Nora Gage.”
“I’m guessing you’re not the dead body,” said Beth.
“Not today,” said Gage.
THUMPS GOT THE hand-held spot from the cruiser. Gage got a flashlight from the house, led the way down the slope to the river.
“Howdy found him.”
“Howdy being . . . ?”
“A dog,” said Gage. “Golden retriever mix. Thought about calling him Potus ’cause he’s big and orange and dumb as a post. Spends most of his time licking his doodle.”
“Lovely,” said Beth.
“So, Howdy found him?”
“Began barking like hell,” said Gage. “Running back and forth. Thought it might be a skunk or a coyote. Or a Republican. You got Republicans in this neck of the woods?”
“So, you went to look.”
“I went to look.”
AFTER IT LEFT the mountains, the Ironstone ran out across the high prairies, twisting and turning like an enormous snake, doubling back on itself in places. But here, the river ran through a basalt canyon where the sloping edges of the coulees gave way to hard cuts, low cliffs, and ledges.
In the daylight, the area was a geological delight, all craggy and prehistoric. At night, the broken ground and the drops made it forbidding and treacherous.
THE MAN WAS lying on a lower ledge, slumped on his side, his face buried in his arms.
Beth peered over the edge. “Borrow your light, deputy?”
“You see something?”
Beth played the beam across the rocks. As the light hit the man’s face, he moved, raised a hand to shield his eyes.
“About fucking time.” The man rolled up on his side, groaned in pain. “I’ve been shouting for hours.”
Beth had her cell out and was dialing. “This is Dr. Beth Mooney. Need an ambulance and a rescue unit out at Ironstone River Estates. We’re down the slope behind number . . .”
“1492 River View,” said Gage. “My bad. When I found him, he wasn’t moving.”
Beth sighed, turned to Thumps. “Come on. This just gets better and better.”
IT TOOK THE TWO of them longer to work their way down to the man than Thumps would have expected.
“I’m Deputy Sheriff Thumps DreadfulWater. What’s your name?”
“Jim Brown,” said the man. “Christ, but it hurts.”
“What happened?”
“Out for a walk.” Brown paused between mouthfuls of air. “Minding my own business. Was attacked by a bear.”
Thumps looked up at Gage.
“Came out of nowhere.” Brown tried to shift position, moaned. “Knocked me over the cliff.”
“Just stay still, Mr. Brown,” said Beth. “We’ve got a rescue unit and an ambulance on the way. Are you married?”
“What?”
“Deputy DreadfulWater could call your wife,” said Beth. “Let her know you’re all right.”
“I’m not all right. Fucking bear tried to kill me.”
THE RESCUE UNIT and the ambulance arrived at the same time in the same vehicle. Chinook being a small town, they were one and the same. It was a standing joke. The Sifton twins were rescue when rescue was called for and ambulance when one was needed.
“What do we got?”
Thumps had worked with the two men on several occasions, but he still couldn’t tell them apart.
“You’re Justin?”
“I’m Jason. He’s Justin.”
“No, he’s not. I’m Jason.”
Beth whacked one of the twins on the shoulder. “This is Justin. The one with the red hair is Jason.”
Thumps could feel a small surge of annoyance. “They both have red hair.”
“Keep up,” said Beth.
It took the twins the better part of an hour to climb down, rig a basket, drag Brown up, and load him into the ambulance.
Thumps stood by the door as Jason locked the gurney in place. Or maybe it was Justin.
“I’ll stop by the hospital,” Thumps told Brown. “Get your statement for the accident report.”
“Nothing to report,” said Brown. “I was out walking, minding my own business, and this huge bear attacked me. You find it, you need to put it down. Animal is dangerous.”
“I think it was a dog,” said Thumps.
“A dog? I know a bear when I see one.”
“Did it bite you?”
“Bite me? Damn thing knocked me off the edge of a cliff. Could have killed me. Isn’t that enough?”
Brown was about to launch into another round of complaints when Jason or Justin shut the door.
“Which one are you?”
“Jason,” said the twin.
“How’s he look?”
“Cuts and bruises,” said Jason. “Nasty head wound. Could have a concussion. What sort of numbnuts goes walking around here at night?”
THUMPS STOOD AT the edge of the driveway and watched the tail lights of the ambulance disappear in the distance. Then he turned, walked back to the house.
Beth and Gage were waiting for him.
“You buy his story?” asked Beth.
“Out for a walk along the river?”
“Wouldn’t go for a walk out there in the daylight,” said Gage.
Thumps felt it before he saw anything. Moving fast, coming out of the night. A large something that clipped his thigh on the first pass.
Gage clapped her hands. “Howdy!”
The dog came to a skidding stop, turned, stumbled over his own feet, came romping back, his whole body shaking with joy. Thumps always wondered what dogs found so delightful about life.
Gage began rubbing Howdy’s sides. “Has you been a frisky doggy? Has you been a frisky doggy?”
Howdy hadn’t come back alone. He had something in his mouth.
“Drop it,” said Gage, in a motherly tone. “Drop it now.”
Which Howdy wasn’t about to do. The dog crouched down and then sprang away, tossing the backpack about.
“Howdy!” Gage took a rawhide bone out of her jacket pocket, held it high.
The dog disappeared into the night, but Gage was patient. She stood still as a statue, the bone in her hand. And then Howdy was back, the backpack hanging from his mouth like a dead rabbit.
“Drop it.”
Howdy chewed on the pack, looked at the bone, chewed on the pack, looked at the bone.
“Drop it now.”
Thumps was prepared to try to snatch the pack from the jaws of the hound of the Baskervilles, but the rawhide bone and Gage’s voice worked their magic. Howdy dropped the pack, sat down at Gage’s feet, quivering with anticipation.
“Go!” Gage shouted, and flung the bone into the night.
The dog was off like a shot, the ground shaking with his going.
Thumps picked up the pack. It was wet with dog slobber.
“That,” said Beth, “is disgusting.”
“He’s still a puppy,” said Gage. “Doesn’t know his own strength.”
Thumps held the pack out at arm’s length. “You got gloves?”
Beth took a step back. “Little dog spit isn’t going to hurt you.”
“Gloves? Please?”
Gage stepped in with her flashlight. “You thinking this belongs to our Mr. Brown?”
Thumps worked the zipper. Inside was a wallet, two energy bars, a bottle of water, along with a monocular and a camera.
“Exactly what I’d pack for an evening’s stroll,” said Beth.
Inside the wallet was a driver’s licence for one Stan Greeley. The picture on the licence was of the injured man, Jim Brown.
Thumps handed the licence to Beth. “Appears our Mr. Brown has a hitch in his giddyap.”
Gage shook her head. “You people actually talk like that?”
“No,” said Beth, “we do not.”
“Monocular’s a Duovox,” said Gage. “Night-vision model. Camera’s a Sony. Super telephoto.”
Thumps and Beth looked at Gage.
“Mr. Brown–cum-Greeley’s clothes are low rent,” said Gage, “but the monocular and the camera are high-end goodies.”
Beth zipped her jacket, jammed her hands in her pockets. “And exactly what is it you do for a living, Nora Gage?”
“Isn’t the big guy supposed to ask me that?”
Thumps was beginning to feel like piggy in the middle. “The big guy is asking.”
“U.S. Customs,” said Gage. “Retired.”
“Fixed income?” asked Beth.
“‘Fixed’ makes it sound as though it was working at some point.”
Beth nodded. “For a retired federal employee on a fixed income, you seem to know a lot about high-end goodies.”
“Occupational hazard,” said Gage. “You’d be amazed what people try to smuggle into the country.”
“Nice house,” said Beth, “for a retired federal employee on a fixed income.”
“Renting,” said Gage. “Surprisingly cheap, but I should have specified no dead bodies in the agreement.”
“Injured,” said Beth. “Not dead.”
“Point taken.”
“Okay,” said Thumps. “We got a Mr. Brown who may in fact be a Mr. Greeley, who is found behind your place with a night-vision monocular and a camera.”
“Don’t forget the water and the energy bars,” said Beth.
“Before you ask, I never saw him before in my life.” Gage crossed her arms. “I’m thinking he’s a Republican, but I’ll leave the thinking to those who get paid for doing that sort of work.”
“Deputy Sheriff DreadfulWater is in charge of thinking,” said Beth. “I just do the how.”
“Speaking of which,” said Gage, “I better go find Howdy. Before the big dummy gets lost and winds up in Idaho.”
“I’m going to have more questions,” said Thumps.
“You know where to find me,” said Gage. “Kinda quiet out here, so I’d welcome the company.”
Cisco Cruz. That’s where Thumps had seen Gage. On the sidewalk outside the pizza place. With Cisco Cruz.
“I’m going home,” said Beth. “Try to salvage the night.”
Thumps watched Beth trudge back up to her station wagon. He waited until she was on her way to the main road. Then he turned to Gage.
“Cisco Cruz.”
Gage’s face stayed flat and quiet. “Who?”
“Give him a message,” said Thumps. “Tell him to be at the sheriff’s office first thing tomorrow or I’ll find him, tie him to my bumper, and drag him through a patch of prickly pear.”
“That some kind of cactus?”
“It is.”
“You know,” said Gage, “I think I’m going to like it here.”