Call Down the Hawk, page 14
It had rained that night, as Russ had said it would, just enough to settle the dust. The day dawned clear and cooler. They’d soon be in September, and she would have to attend the faculty orientation across the river. If she could. If she weren’t stuck here.
Perhaps an hour after the loggers had loaded the firewood onto two trucks and driven off, a heavy-equipment hauler brought in a bulldozer. The dozer made its fat way down to the east end of the orchard where it began bumping and shoving debris toward the slash pile. The pile lay some distance east of the garage, to minimize fire danger.
She saw Gerd but not Russell. She supposed Russ was already working across the highway. Her mind shied away from him. She didn’t want to analyze her startling evening to death. For now, it was enough to know it had happened. She hoped Tom Dahl was getting Frank’s money’s worth from Gerd. The wine maker seemed to be having a good time down in what had been the orchard.
When the mail came around noon, the new checks were there with her name printed on them, hers and Dahl’s. She paid Irma, who took the rest of the day off. Gus hadn’t gotten up yet when Jane drove the Prius into Klalo for a load of easy-cook groceries, and she hadn’t seen Libby either, though Libby’s car was in the garage beside Gus’s rental. Jane drove to the hospital first, half hoping Russ would be there. He wasn’t but Alice was—praying.
Jane retreated to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. Why shouldn’t Alice pray? If Judith had been Jane’s child, Jane would have spent the past week on her knees whether or not she believed. She thought of her father, or tried to, but all she could conjure was the image of his face. She had so many questions for him—and no answers.
The cafeteria was almost deserted, as it deserved to be. When Jane reformed health care, she would start by hiring four-star chefs to re-create hospital food, including coffee and the Jell-O inflicted on patients. She took a swallow from her cooling cup and gave up. She could not drink it. She bused the cup, went out to the elevator, and rode up to the second floor. Alice was standing by Judith’s window looking out at the parking lot. She turned and smiled, the smile rather forced.
“Thank you for coming, Jane. You’re very faithful.”
Jane felt herself blush as she groped for something to say. “How is Judith?” was pointless because she knew the answer. She settled for “How are you, Alice?”
Alice burst into tears.
Jane helped her into the deathwatch chair, patted her, made soothing noises—all the right things. Nothing seemed to reach the older woman. Maybe the emotional collapse was overdue.
Over the buzz of embarrassment in her head, Jane could hear Alice saying that she was a bad mother, that it was all her fault. This was nonsense. Alice had made mistakes—marrying Bill Hough, for one—but Judy’s situation was clearly the result of her decision to shoot herself. For that, blame could lie at Daddy’s door—and all the presidents’ doors and the Viet Cong’s and the Taliban’s—and firmly on the Second Amendment. And on Judy. Blaming was futile.
Jane had had very little experience of death. One of her childhood friends had died of leukemia, a teacher had been killed in a traffic accident, and her Sylvester step-grandmother had died of a wild-card aneurysm—that was all. She’d read about the stages of mourning, of course, enough to know that weeping and self-blame were healthy and normal. But they were very hard for bystanders to bear, especially those like herself who tended to cry when someone else did. As she stroked and murmured and patted Russ’s mother, tears rolled down her own cheeks. Her nose was probably red. It was certainly runny. She grabbed tissues from the bedside table, handed a fistful to Alice, and scrubbed her own face.
But Judy was not dead. She was lurking there. Maybe she was listening.
“Judy,” she said, “it’s Jane. Your mother is being very foolish. I’m sure you’ll agree. I think you’re being foolish, too. It’s time for you to wake up.”
She broke off and bit her lip. What was she thinking? As she turned back to Alice, she thought she saw the fleeting wraith of an expression on Judith’s face. She held her breath and watched.
It must have been an illusion. Judy lay as still and silent as ever. The shuddering woman in the chair gave a last sad gulp and blew her nose. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Alice…”
“You’re very kind.” As Alice blew her nose, she added, “And sympathetic. I’m sorry I made you cry.”
Jane explained her weeping problem. “It’s contagious. Like yawning. I don’t dare attend a movie if I know people in the audience are going to cry. My mother says I was terrible when I was small. I used to howl.”
Alice sniffed, then began to giggle. Jane had to laugh, too, but she was embarrassed. Perhaps Alice realized that. She talked about the change in the weather. Neither of them said anything about Jane’s speech to Judith, and Jane was careful not to mention the ghost-expression she’d seen. No use raising false hopes. At last, rather shyly, Alice begged a ride home so Russ wouldn’t have to come for her. Jane said she’d return to the hospital when she’d finished grocery shopping. Alice said she ought to shop a bit, too. Could she come?
She could and did. Shopping ate up half an hour. They rendezvoused at the checkout stand, both with laden carts. It looked as if Alice meant to do some baking. The Prius held everything. Just.
On the way back, Jane chattered. She was not about to allow Alice the opportunity for an emotional relapse. Alice talked about the cherry orchard’s demise cheerfully enough. Russ had agreed to keep two of the healthy trees near the garage for household needs, and he was going to plant berries to replace the orchard—blueberries, the domestic cousins of huckleberries, and raspberries. Alice approved. Maybe the yellow jacket population would dwindle.
When that topic ran dry a few miles east of Klalo, Jane asked how the driving lessons were going. This was fruitful of chatter because Alice had mixed feelings. On the one hand, she relished the freedom promised by a driver’s license. On the other, driving itself terrified her. Russ had been taking her to the network of lanes across the highway to practice where there was no traffic to worry about. Apparently she had tromped on the accelerator rather than the brake more than once.
“And Russ didn’t even yell at me,” she confided.
“Maybe he couldn’t speak.” Jane regretted the ill-considered joke as soon as the words left her mouth.
Alice gave an uncertain laugh. The woman had spent more than thirty-five years married to Bill Hough, a yeller if there ever was one. To make up for her gaffe, Jane told tales of her own mishaps as she learned to drive, including the time she ran into a stop sign with the driver’s ed teacher sitting beside her.
That took them to Two Falls. Chief Thomas’s double-wide manufactured home, visible from the main street, showed movement in the kitchen. Time to cook already? Jane checked her watch. A bit early.
“Did you enjoy your dinner last night?”
“Um, yes. Nice food, good company.” Jane did not want to talk about her evening out. She meant to hug it to herself. It was special. It was private. It was nobody’s business but her own—and Russ’s. Clearly he had told Alice something.
“Russ said ‘good food, good company.’ Do the two of you think along the same lines?”
Jane found the idea pleasing. “We must. Afterwards he took me down to the marina and showed me where my stepmother surfs. The river’s beautiful in the dark.”
Alice digested that. “It is beautiful. Maybe I take it for granted. He said you had Thai food. I’ve never eaten Thai food. Chinese, yes. How is it different?”
Jane was shocked and rather touched. Imagine never having eaten Thai food. She spent some time trying to explain the differences. On impulse, as she turned in to the farmhouse, she said, “I’ll tell you what, Alice. When you pass your driver’s test we’ll celebrate by eating at that restaurant.”
“Oh, could we? What a nice thing to say.”
Jane set the brake and killed the engine. “You can drive me there.”
“I knew there had to be a catch.”
Jane stared at her. Alice was smiling. Jane helped her carry her groceries to the kitchen.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Jane cooked for Gus and Gerd. Libby went off with friends. Russ called after dinner, and he and Jane talked about nothing much for half an hour, happy to hear each other’s voices. They made a tentative date for pizza later in the week. Jane took her Kindle to bed.
* * *
The call came shortly after Rob Neill had settled into his office early Tuesday morning. The latte he had bought on the walk to the courthouse was still warm. He identified himself and took a quick gulp of coffee.
“My name is Russell Hough. I thought I should phone you directly.” The caller coughed. “My crew just found Frank August’s body in the cherry orchard here—at Hawk Farm, I mean.”
Rob sat up straight and set his coffee down. “August…” He could hear voices shouting in the background and the noise of a heavy engine.
“Who else could it be? Who else is missing?” Hough’s voice was ragged.
“Do you recognize him?”
Rob heard the man draw a steadying breath. “I’ve never met him, though I saw the photo you showed on TV. The thing is, the bulldozer—Hell, I have to explain.” He made a bid for control and went on in a flat monotone, “I’m removing the orchard. They cut the last trees down yesterday and chipped most of the stumps. I had a bulldozer brought in to smooth things down. It’s just finishing, up by the gate to August’s syrah vineyard. The driver’s blade brought up a human arm.”
“My God, d’you mean the body’s dismembered?”
Hough cleared his throat. More shouting in the background. The heavy engine stopped. “No. It’s, uh, still connected.” He cleared his throat again. “The blade was just skimming—shoving dirt around. Gerd saw the arm and shouted to the driver to stop. It’s pretty horrible.”
“Gerhard Koeppel. The wine maker?”
“Yes, August’s wine maker. Gerd has been helping me out since I hurt my foot. I’m not supposed to walk on loose dirt.”
“I met Koeppel,” Rob interjected. “Keep everyone away from the site, that is, from the place where the body lies, but don’t let him—or your workers—leave the premises. We need to question everybody. I’m sending a car from Two Falls now, and I’ll bring an ambulance and the forensics van as fast as I can. The press will swarm.”
Hough groaned.
“Get your defenses in place. They’re not supposed to trespass. And keep to ‘no comment’ if they corner you. Let your phone calls go to voicemail. Since you called me directly instead of going through 911, they probably won’t catch on for a while.”
“But they will catch on.”
“Yes. Take care, Mr. Hough.” Rob disconnected. He and his team were almost to Two Falls half an hour later when it occurred to him that he had failed to tell Hough not to call his neighbors with the news.
* * *
Jane’s cell phone rang as she was staring into her first cup of coffee. When she saw that the caller was Russ, she answered it—on the third ring. It took her that long to find Talk.
“Jane—”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“My dear, I’m afraid we’ve found your father’s body.”
She made a gasping noise, reaching for a scream, but her throat locked.
He went on, his voice dragging with sadness. He was saying something about the orchard and the bulldozer that she didn’t want to hear.
The no in her head blanked out meaning. “I’m coming down.”
“Yes. Drive. It’s safer. The press—”
She disconnected and sat for a numb moment. She ought to wake Gus and Libby. When she thought of Libby’s shrieks, her mind revolted. She grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter where she’d left it the night before, stuffed her phone into it, and ran to the door that led to the garage. She didn’t even leave a note.
Russ was waiting and stood as she turned the Prius into the farmyard. He had been sitting on the porch steps with a crutch beside him. He stood without its aid, and Jane flew to his arms. He didn’t say anything at all, but he held her, smoothing her hair.
When her shaking eased, he retrieved his crutch and led her up the steps. She could hear voices babbling in the orchard beyond the garage.
Russ said, “Let’s go in. The patrol car will be here any minute.”
“You called the cops?” Dumb question.
“The undersheriff. Neill. He sent a car from Two Falls and will be here with his crime scene investigators as soon as he can. He won’t be happy that I called you.”
“I had to know!”
“Yes.”
Her brain began to work. “I suppose he wanted to see my reaction when I heard.”
“Cops think that way.” He ushered her into the dim hallway.
Jane’s mind skittered, and she stopped dead.
“What is it?”
“Shouldn’t I…view…uh, look at the body?”
“Someone will have to eventually, Jane, but he’s still halfburied. The deputies will remove him from—”
“Then how can you tell it’s Dad! Maybe it’s—” She broke off. “How could you do this to me? He can’t be here. He has to be, oh, in Brazil or Canada. Somewhere else. He can’t be dead.”
He was watching her, his dark eyes grave.
“You don’t know him! You never met him. How can you tell—” She knew she was talking nonsense.
He took her by the arm and led her into the living room. When he had settled her on the sofa, he disappeared.
She didn’t cry, but she was trembling again. She heard low voices from the direction of the kitchen. Oh God, Alice. Jane blew her nose. She could not make small talk with Alice. She had to collect her wits before the police arrived. All the scenarios that raced through her mind were appalling.
Someone had buried her father in the orchard. That meant murder, didn’t it? But who? The why was easy. Money, money, money. But what about vengeance? She thought of the woman Frank had insulted at the library fête. He went out of his way to annoy innocent bystanders. He enjoyed conflict. But surely he had not tussled with anyone in Latouche County long enough to provoke murder. Bill Hough was safely dead. And few of the people Frank had dealt with in California knew where he lived.
She didn’t know that, not for sure. The bank employees—and the customers—had the strongest motive to harm him, but he’d left the banking scene well before things began to fall apart. If anyone, Gus ought to be their target, not Frank. But suppose the bank’s victims did know of her father’s move north, and did know of his role in the mortgage crisis? She could imagine some aggrieved victim of foreclosure stalking him via the Internet, moving to the area, lurking.
She buried her face in her hands. She was avoiding the worst scenarios. All too often, murder was a household matter. Gus, Libby, Gerd, even Irma. And down the hill. Here—where his body had been buried. Russ, Judith, Alice, and, just possibly, Tom Dahl. And what about the man who had found the SUV, Russ’s uncle? Redfern, that was his name. Alice’s brother. Nonsense, she told herself. The poor man was the most innocent of bystanders.
At that point she remembered something important, something wonderful. Russ could not have killed her father. The day Russ had torn the ligament in his foot Frank had been alive and blustering about lawsuits at the dinner table. She would never have believed Russ could kill her father, but her confidence was not just sentiment. Russ could not have taken Frank’s body to the orchard and buried him. No way. Even cops would have to see that.
For at least a minute, she basked in the joy of knowing there was someone she could trust, and, above all, that it was Russell. Misery swept back over her. How was she going to live in the same house with people she had to suspect might have killed her father? If only she’d found a place to rent in Hood River and moved out. If only.
Russ returned with a mug of coffee. He was leaning hard on the crutch and juggling the cup in his left hand. He set it on the end table beside her. “Black. No sugar. Right?”
She nodded, mute.
“I told Ma you wanted to be alone with your thoughts.”
“Thanks. I can’t t-talk.”
“It’s okay. If she tries to thrust coffee cake on you, just say no. She won’t be offended. I have to go back out there now and soothe down Gerd and the kids.”
“Kids?”
“Three of my regular crew were helping to clear the orchard. They’re scared they’ll be deported.”
“And will they?”
“Not if I can help it. I think they’re okay.” He didn’t sound sure. He cocked his head, frowning. “Siren. Must be the patrol car.”
“Do you have to tell the police I’m here?”
The siren wailed, cut off, gave a yelp.
“I’ll have to if they ask. The undersheriff is bound to, but he won’t get here for a while.”
She heard gravel crunch as the patrol car turned in to the farm.
“Drink your coffee, Jane.” Russ touched her hand. “And don’t think too much. We don’t know what happened.” He stumped off, leaning on the crutch. She hoped he hadn’t damaged his foot walking in the orchard.
* * *
Rob drove the new four-wheel-drive car from the courthouse in Klalo. He didn’t drive patrol cars that often. He preferred to use his time more productively riding shotgun, but Linda Ramos wanted to consult her notes. She needed to bring him up to date on the missing person investigation, now that the person was no longer missing. Niles Larson crammed himself into the backseat. The forensics van followed, and an ambulance was coming, too. The state patrol had rounded up a medical examiner who would drive out from Camas.
Rob accelerated past the Highway 14 sign on the east side of town. “So tell me about backgrounds—the son and the wife first.”
Linda spent some time reviewing her notes before she replied. “Neither Mrs. August nor the son has any kind of police record. Francis, Junior, is twenty-seven, has an MBA from Wharton.”
