“So who took Austin up in the plane?” Irita asked Kathy when they sat down again with fresh coffee.
Kathy had stopped sorting her CD collection and simply sat in the middle of the disarray. “I have no idea.”
“Well, when was the last time you saw Austin?” Mesa asked, aware that soon the FBI would be asking all the same questions.
“Saturday night,” she said and turned again to the clutter around her, and began to alphabetize CD’s by artist as best Mesa could tell.
“He came to dinner. I made lasagna and we talked right here. He sat where you’re sitting now,” she said and pointed to the couch.
Mesa fought the urge to get up. She felt suddenly uncomfortable with the lingering proximity of someone who had recently died, and so violently. “What did you talk about?” she asked and tried not to sound morbid.
“Butte. Lloyd said he had already met some nice people. He had applied for a job with Brownstone Printing over on Harrison.” Then she paused and said, “It wasn’t like we had planned some romantic tryst. We were just two adults trying to be kind to one another, for God’s sake. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
Mesa said nothing, and Kathy lowered her voice. “He left around 9:30 when it was time for me to put the kids to bed.”
Mesa tried to imagine what must have been going through Kathy’s mind. How could she talk to Austin and not think about her father? “So did you tell him?” Mesa asked.
“Tell him what?” Kathy said, holding a Ray Charles Christmas Collection in her hand.
“Who you were,” Mesa said. “Did you have your confrontation?”
Kathy hugged the CD to her and shook her head. “There was a time when I dreamt about the heartbreak I’d make him feel when I told him who I was. But when the time came, that wasn’t the way it was. I spent a total of about five hours with Lowell Austin, and in that time, I found some neutral zone. It was a relief to be honest.”
Mesa wasn’t sure what to think. How could Kathy have betrayed the memory of her father that way? Maybe this was all smoke and mirrors. “You’re sure you don’t have any ideas about how Austin ended up in that plane on Sunday?”
Kathy was busy again, putting CDs back into the wall case. She shook her head.
Irita took over. “Kathy, someone saw your car at the airport on Monday.”
Kathy stopped her shelving and then slowly turned around. “That’s not possible. I took the kids up to Georgetown Lake on Sunday. We stayed the night at my friend Connie’s parents’ cabin.”
“You drove up to the lake?” Mesa asked.
“Well, no. We went with Connie’s parents in their RV. The kids have been bugging me to ride in it. They drove us to the Labor Day Picnic on Monday, and then took us home.”
“What about Garrett?” Irita asked.
“I invited him to come with us, but he wanted to see Tessa. I guess he stayed there overnight. He came with her to the picnic on Monday. I haven’t seen him since.”
Mesa remembered the blonde at the swings with Garrett. Tessa Revelle. That was her name. She had graduated from Butte High a year before Mesa. “You mean you haven’t talked to him now that Austin’s dead?”
Kathy put the final handful of CDs back into the bookcase and then looked back around. “Garrett showed up at my house on Saturday evening—barely said two words, dumped his duffle bag, then left again. I haven’t seen or heard from him since Monday after the picnic. I don’t know that he’s in the mood to talk about much of anything.”
Mesa was surprised how unsympathetic she seemed toward her brother. He didn’t look like he was in such good shape, especially if he was AWOL. “Did he know that you had been writing to Austin?” Mesa asked.
“He called me as soon as he arrived stateside a couple of weeks ago, and I told him that Austin was getting out. That’s all. He was shocked I even knew.” She gestured with her hands opened in front of her as if to say, “go figure.”
“Maybe it’s hard for someone else, who hasn’t been through what we have, to understand. But the whole time we were growing up, my mother wanted us to remember the good things about my dad’s life. That’s how you survive—selective memory. Once we moved back to Montana, Garrett and I never once talked about what happened to our father.”
Mesa just couldn’t understand. She and Chance had become closer after their mother died of cancer. Of course, they were teenagers and old enough to give voice to their emotions. Kathy and Garrett were still in grade school, and their father had died a violent death. Maybe, their trauma was so deep that they’d buried their emotions.
Even now, Kathy seemed oblivious to how others might view what she’d done—enticing Austin to Butte and then he turns up dead. “Kathy, you do realize the authorities are looking for a car just like yours?” Mesa asked. “Might be a good idea to call them before they come looking for you.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Kathy said and then walked to the end of the bookshelves. “At least not by any manmade laws,” she muttered. She looked at a shelf of kid’s books, picked up a handful, and began sorting them by size. Then she stopped. “I hate the pain of having it all in the papers again. My kids don’t know anything about any of this. They’re more innocent even than I was.”
* * *
Chance sat at the computer in his grandmother’s office. He had helped Irita move it there when she, for all intents and purposes, had begun to manage the paper while Nana was in the hospital. He knew now that it had been a mistake to keep this from Mesa.
Who knew Irita would step up quite like she did? And by the time he began to see she was seriously capable, he had already set in motion the plan to get Mesa to come back to Butte. Maybe, this may have been a slight miscalculation. The truth was he didn’t want to face any big changes, especially Nana’s decline, without Mesa.
He looked at the clock again. Layton James would be on the 6:30 p.m. flight from Salt Lake, and Chance had offered to pick him up. James knew enough about FBI investigators to welcome any local sources who might offset the FBI’s stonewalling and had readily accepted the offer. They both knew the arrangement would be mutually beneficial.
Chance was flipping through the latest edition of the Messenger when Mesa walked in. She looked worn. Usually she had this crisp walk, head up, eyes sharp, but not now.
She stopped in the doorway. “I didn’t expect to see you. It’s way past quitting time.”
He took his feet off the desk and stood up.
“Don’t get up,” Mesa said. “I don’t need the computer.” She collapsed onto the sofa. “What are you doing here?”
“Just killing time,” he said, trying to sound casual. He had decided Adrienne was right. Mesa was going to think whatever she was going to think about his new relationship. He would have to rely on her to get to know Adrienne. Hopefully, that would make the difference. “I’m picking up an insurance investigator on the 6:30 flight from Salt Lake. More info on the plane crash.”
Mesa sat up on the edge of the sofa. “Like what?”
“The guy the plane belonged to. Well, he writes it off as a company plane. Anyway, he went biking in Canyonlands over the weekend. But then he flipped his bike and smacked his head bad. In the process of dealing with that accident, his company discovered that the plane had disappeared from the Moab airport.”
“There goes the theory about the pilot absconding with the company’s payroll,” Mesa said. “Simian goes from suspect to victim. Well, don’t despair. Here’s another tidbit for you,” she said. “I found your Kate.”
Her tone seemed conciliatory. Chance sat up immediately. “Who is it?”
“Would you believe Kathy DiNunzio? She used to be called Kate when she was a kid.”
“Who?” Chance asked. He didn’t know any Kate or Kathy with that last name.
“It’s Irita’s ex-daughter-in-law, and that’s not even the big shocker. Ready for it? Her father was one of the two wardens Lowell Austin killed.”
“Shut up,” Chance said in a whisper. “She lured Austin to Butte?”
Mesa nodded. “But I don’t think she had anything to do with killing him. As a matter of fact, I think she feels guilty that he’s dead.”
Chance listened intently while Mesa explained Kathy DiNunzio’s revenge of the heart. “And you think I have strange ideas about relationships,” he said with half a grin.
Mesa smiled back. “I just spent the last four hours over there. I think she’s sorry she ever encouraged him to come to Butte.”
Chance was skeptical. “Maybe she’s giving you a big snow job, too.”
Mesa shook her head, and explained Kathy’s whereabouts on Sunday morning. She was nowhere near the plane crash or the airport, and she has witnesses to prove it.
“And she has no idea who might have wanted to kill Austin?”
“I think she’s still in a state of shock about the whole thing. She can’t even remember Austin mentioning knowing anybody else in Butte.”
“Wait a minute. Weren’t there two kids?” Chance asked.
“You are on it. There is a brother. He just came back from a tour in Afghanistan, Army National Guard. Apparently, he has his own troubles. He’s AWOL.”
“Don’t suppose he flies?” Chance asked, suspecting the answer.
Mesa again shook her head. “Drives truck.”
They stared across the room at each other. Chance thought about when their mother had died. They were both in high school, but they had still relied heavily on one another. He and Mesa were closer than most brothers and sisters he knew. That was partly why what she had said earlier in the day had bothered him so much—and, he realized at that moment, probably why she was upset that he hadn’t told her about Adrienne, at least partly.
Their mother had died at home surrounded by her family, which was hard enough. He couldn’t imagine the kind of grief he might have felt if she had been the victim of a horrible crime. “How old were they when all this happened?”
“She was ten. He was eight.”
“Wow, that’s dark,” Chance said. Having to live with the murder of a parent was inconceivable to him. How would your world ever seem right again? “You get her to call the cops?”
“I left Irita with her. She was getting ready to call Solheim when I left.”
Chance looked at his watch. “Guess I better head for the airport. Want to come along?”
Mesa sighed and shook her head. “I promised to have dinner with Nan.”
“Oh whoops, she invited me over too,” he said. “Will you tell her I had to meet this guy?”
Mesa nodded but said nothing.
“I’ll get with Erin in the morning about the story,” Chance said. “Sounds like we might have a decent feature for the next edition.” He took a step toward the door.
Mesa nodded again. “Listen, Chance, about Adrienne.”
Chance cleared his throat. He hated these kinds of conversations, especially with Mesa. She could never bring herself to say she was sorry. But he also knew she was always much harder on herself than he could ever be.
“It’s not any of my business,” she said. “If you butted into my life like that, you know I would give you three kinds of hell.” She sounded embarrassed at this last part.
This was the best apology he was going to get, but he still wasn’t ready to talk about it. And there were some things he definitely wanted to say, but not now. “I know. See you tomorrow,” he said and walked out of the office.
* * *
Mesa sat at the oak table in the kitchen picking over what was left of what Nana called “late tea,” meaning more than biscuits—otherwise known as cookies—but less than a bona fide supper. This evening it meant scrambled eggs and English muffins.
Mesa had hurried home after Chance left, to find Nana up and about setting the table. That is, until Mesa insisted on taking over.
Now that they were finished eating, Mesa found herself with plenty on her mind—her impending flight to Portland on Friday, but more immediately her argument with Chance. “Have enough to eat?” Mesa asked absent-mindedly.
“More than enough,” Nana said and then explained how she had eaten a lovely lunch with Beryl Winstead, a woman in her English Club. They’d eaten Toad in the Hole, though Nana quickly pointed out that the sausages were quite lean and small and the Yorkshire pudding had been made with skim milk, therefore putting this English comfort food quite within her cardiologist’s dietary guidelines.
“Nana, you have to take care of yourself now. And that includes watching what you eat.” Mesa sounded too much like her own mother, and found the role reversal unsettling.
“Taking care of one’s heart also includes lifting one’s spirits,” her grandmother said in defense of her culinary choices. “It looks as though you might need a bit of that. Have a bad day?”
Mesa rolled her eyes and toyed with her eggs. “Chance and I had words.”
“Oh dear,” her grandmother said, her voice registering the rarity of such an event. “Whatever about, if I may ask?”
“Adrienne DeBrook.”
“Ah, the painter. Lovely, isn’t she? What was the scrap about?”
Nana’s tone sounded curious, as if she couldn’t imagine what the problem could be. This made Mesa even more self-conscious. “I made a remark about their age difference.”
Nana took a judiciously timed sip of tea and waited for Mesa to say more.
“Am I the only one who is uncomfortable with Chance being gaga over a woman more than fifteen years older than him?”
“Closer to twenty, I should think,” Nana said. She’s planning to go to the 25th reunion of her medical school class.”
“She’s a doctor too?” Mesa said. What a career switch. Mesa found this intriguing, even downright admirable. She sighed. “Okay, I never said she wasn’t bright and attractive in her own way.”
“And if she and Chance weren’t seeing each other, you might even be her friend?” Nana said.
Her voice now had that knowing quality that both irritated and touched Mesa. “Maybe.”
“Mesa, how many times have you heard me say you can’t help who you love? If I had listened to reason or convention, you wouldn’t be here now. I certainly wouldn’t have left Cambridge to marry your grandfather, leaving everything and everybody I knew to move to Montana.”
“I know,” Mesa said. There was no argument here. Her grandmother’s courage inspired Mesa every day. Imagine leaving London behind to move to a cattle ranch so you could be with the man you love.
Mesa wasn’t sure she had that kind of courage. Maybe that was what bugged her about Adrienne. Apparently, she wasn’t worried about what people thought. Maybe it was jealousy of both of them, Adrienne and Chance.
“I wonder what happened to Chance this evening,” Nana said. “I invited him to come over as well. I enjoy seeing the two of you together.”
“I meant to tell you,” Mesa said, absently wondering what other pieces to the Lowell Austin puzzle he might be finding. “He had to meet an investigator about the plane crash.”
Nana let out a small groan. “I hope we aren’t going to dwell on this in the Messenger for any longer than necessary.”
“It’s turning into quite a story,” Mesa said and gave her the details of Kathy DiNunzio’s account. She made a mental note to call Irita and find out what else she might have learned.
Halfway through the tale, Nana gleefully refilled their teacups. Clearly, the story interested her after all. “I can see the woman’s thinking,” Nana said. “Make him live with the pain. It’s a page out of Dickens, isn’t it? Great Expectations, remember? Miss Haversham gets left at the altar, no humiliation more public than that. So she spends a lifetime exacting her revenge.”
Public humiliation. That was certainly what Kathy’s family had endured. Scanning the news articles in the box Kathy had kept, Mesa saw how the defense had tried to cast Donovan Birch as the bad guy, saying he was an aggressive game warden who rubbed hunters the wrong way.
She thought about her own father. Like a lot of military officers, he could be a hard man at times, but he was always fair. But she could see how some of his decisions, when taken out of context, might seem arbitrary.
Whatever the case, she would never have been able to sit still while people criticized him. But how far would she have gone to stop it, or to get even with those who had maligned him? “Aren’t we supposed to turn the other cheek?”
“That, my child, is New Testament. Stories of revenge abound in the Old Testament. Righteous indignation fueled God’s destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.”
“Maybe so, but in this day and age, most people are content with fantasizing about revenge. They don’t go around actually living out their fantasies. That’s why reality TV shows are so popular.”
“So you don’t think this DiNunzio woman had anything to do with getting even with the man who killed her father?” Nana asked in a tone that begged the question.
Mesa had begun clearing the table and stopped in her tracks. Had she misread Kathy’s tears? Could there have been a much larger scheme at play, in which she was just acting her part? Mesa put the dinner dishes in the sink and went to call Irita.