Free Fire Page 27

  “Good timing on my part!” Nate said, coming down the hill. The fact that he wore his shoulder holster jolted Joe back into the situation he was in. For a moment, while he watched his daughters walk through the grass toward the stream and his wife unfurl the blanket and unpack the wine, he’d forgotten.

  MARYBETH LISTENED CAREFULLY as Joe filled Nate in on what had happened since they’d last talked. Nate was particularly interested in the flamers and asked Joe to describe them more than once. As Joe did, Nate nodded, rubbing his chin, looking inscrutable.

  “It seems like it’s coming to a head of some kind,” Nate said. “Whoever they are decided to go after you and Demming on the same night. You must have hit a nerve.”

  Joe nodded. “It had to be the videotapes.”

  “Have you looked at them?”

  “I haven’t had a chance,” Joe said. “I’ve got three entrances. I may have something worthwhile there, but as I said, Demming had the other two entrances and her computer is missing.”

  “We’ll need to take a look,” Nate said.

  “Yup.”

  “I’ve got something too.”

  Joe and Marybeth looked over the rims of their glasses at him.

  “Cutler was holding out on you.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Olig was a Geyser Gazer. He and Cutler were best friends and colleagues, and apparently Olig went along on most of Cutler’s forays into the thermal areas. Hoening only went along a couple of times.”

  Joe was puzzled. “Why didn’t Cutler tell us that?”

  “Two reasons,” Nate said. “One, he and Olig figured something out that could result in murder. Two, Cutler knew where Olig was hiding all along. I think Cutler was about to tell you both things when we went to meet with him but never got the chance. My guess is Olig is still here.”

  “Where?” Joe asked.

  “Guess.”

  “The Old Faithful Inn.”

  “Right,” Nate said. “Remember how I told you about all the secret rooms and hallways in that building? The ones that were designed for who knows what? They’ve all been sealed off, but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t live there if the manager showed him how and gave him permission.”

  “But it’s closed,” Joe said.

  “Officially, yes,” Nate said, “but I saw a light last night on the top floor, toward the back. As I watched, a figure passed in front of the light, then it went out. It’s in that area called Bat’s Alley. That’s a spooky damned place, but a great place to hide.”

  Joe looked over at Marybeth.

  “I guess I know where you two will wind up,” she said.

  “Not tonight,” Joe said.

  “Good, since we have dinner reservations at seven.” She turned to Nate. “Reservations are for five, Nate.”

  “How did you know I’d be here?” Nate asked.

  “I guessed,” she said.

  “Enough,” Joe cautioned.

  From a distance, Sheridan whooped. “Got one!” Joe saw the trout flash on the end of her line in the setting sun, looking more metallic than alive, confirming once again that there were few things more beautiful in the natural world than a rainbow trout—or his daughter catching one.

  26

  SATURDAY NIGHT, THE MAMMOTH DINING ROOM was a quarter filled with the last visitors of the season and a few people passing through. Joe had made a deal with the chef to prepare the three trout Sheridan had caught after he cleaned them and brought them to the kitchen. Sheridan couldn’t stop smiling.

  They had returned at dusk to find that their possessions had been moved, as arranged, to a larger cabin a quarter mile from the one they had in the morning. The girls thought it strange.

  “It’s like we’re Saddam Hussein,” Sheridan said, “moving to a new house every night. Like we’re a mafia family or something.” She looked to Joe and Marybeth for an explanation.

  “This cabin is bigger,” Marybeth said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “We wanted a little more room.”

  Lucy nodded her assent, but Sheridan eyed Joe with suspicion. He looked back stoically.

  In the dining room, Marybeth said, “This is our big night. Let’s all behave and just enjoy it.” It wasn’t necessary to point out that since Joe had lost his job there had been very few nights where they ate out, and when they did it had been fast food.

  “This is elegant,” Lucy said, touching each piece of silver-ware (three forks!) and glassware at her place setting with the tips of her fingers. “I was born for this.”

  She was, Joe agreed, while Marybeth and Sheridan laughed and rolled their eyes.

  Nate watched the exchange the way he always did, with a combination of disbelief and sentimentality.

  THE MAIN COURSES had just been served—pasta for Marybeth, steaks for Joe and Nate, the fresh-caught trout for Sheridan and Lucy—when Joe saw the young, casually dressed couple making their way through empty tables toward them. The couple carried white foam containers of leftovers. The woman looked vaguely familiar.

  “I thought that was Lucy!” the woman said, grinning, stepping up to the table between Joe and Marybeth.

  “Mrs. Hanson!” Lucy cried. She was both excited and embarrassed, the way children are when they see their teachers in surroundings other than the classroom. “What are you doing here?”

  “Josh and I are on our way to Bozeman to the recycling center,” Mrs. Hanson said. “We thought we’d stop for dinner on the way through. How are you, Lucy?”

  “Great! We caught these fish we’re eating.”

  Joe saw the shadow of judgment pass over Mrs. Hanson’s face but it didn’t dent her smile. He thought it telling that the teacher didn’t introduce herself to anyone else at the table and talked only to Lucy.

  “We like to leave the fish in the stream,” Josh said, cheerily but with admonishment, “where they belong.”

  “But it’s okay,” Mrs. Hanson said, “not everyone feels the same way about nature. We know Lucy’s dad is on the other end of that viewpoint.”

  Joe started to argue when he felt Marybeth place her hand on his thigh and she shot him a “Calm down” look.

  Nate leaned back in his chair, studying the Hansons with a Clint Eastwood-type grimace.

  “You’d change your mind if you ate this,” Sheridan said to Lucy’s teacher. “It’s really good. I wish I could have another one. I wish I could catch and eat five more.”

  “How are you, Mrs. Hanson?” Marybeth asked pleasantly, trying to move the conversation past Sheridan’s overt challenge.

  To Joe’s annoyance, Mrs. Hanson and her husband pulled over chairs from the next table, sat down, and proceeded to tell Lucy how they were.

  JOE COULD HAVE kissed Simon when he came to the table and interrupted the conversation with the Hansons. Instead, he followed him from the dining room to the lobby near the bar.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Simon said. “But one of those men is back to see you.”

  “Believe me,” Joe said, “I don’t mind.”

  As they walked out of the building toward the hotel, Simon asked about the new cabin.

  “It’s great,” Joe said. “Thank you for doing that.”

  DOOMSAYER SAT ON a bench outside the Mammoth Hotel. A wide white bandage covered most of his head and glowed white in the moonlight, and his left arm was in a sling. Joe sat down next to him.

  “How’s my dad?”

  Doomsayer shook his head sadly. “I talked to the doctors in Billings. He may not make it, Joe. And if he does, well, he may not have use of his brain. He’s a goner, Joe.”

  Joe looked away.

  “It’s not so bad,” Doomsayer said. “The last thing he did was have a hell of a good toot and reconnect with his son. It could be worse.”

  “How could it be worse?”

  Doomsayer smiled. “He could be like me. Sore as hell and knowing the end could come at any time.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

/>   He shrugged. “There’s not that much to tell. The lights were out, and I think we were both sleeping. Passed out, actually. I know I was, anyway. I never heard anyone come in, which leads me to believe they had a key. But to be honest, someone could have knocked and George could have answered the door thinking it was you. I don’t know. All I can remember is hearing some heavy blows in the dark, and your dad sort of grunting as they hit. I sat up and asked him what was going on when I got hit in the head. That’s all I know.”

  Joe said, “So you never turned the light on? You never saw who did it?”

  “No.”

  Joe shook his head. In his mind, he pictured Layborn swinging his club at a form on the bed, connecting with bone and flesh, spattering the white walls with blood. “He assumed it was me,” Joe said. “But he didn’t know it wasn’t until he realized there were two people in the room.”

  “I guess.”

  “Is that what you told the rangers?” Joe asked.

  Doomsayer nodded.

  “Who interviewed you?”

  The old professor withdrew a business card from his pocket and handed it to Joe. Layborn. No surprise there.

  “Can you feel it?” Doomsayer asked softly.

  Joe looked over, saw the man looking at his feet. “What?”

  “Tremors. They’re very soft, but if you make yourself still and concentrate on the ground, you can feel them.”

  Joe felt nothing.

  “It takes practice, and patience. But I can feel them. They’ve been getting stronger over the past hour. We’ve got some definite seismic action brewing. If you don’t believe me, you should call the federal seismology centers. They’ll confirm that we’ve got a little dirt dance going on right now.”

  Whether it was real or because of Doomsayer’s suggestion, Joe thought he felt a slight vibration through his boots.

  “George is lucky,” Doomsayer said. “He’ll not even know what hit him when the caldera blows.”

  “Stop it,” Joe said, pointing toward the Mammoth restaurant. “My family is in there eating.”

  “I’d advise you to get them home,” Doomsayer said, making his eyes wide, “as long as home is the South Pole. That’s probably the only place they’ll be safe.”

  Joe snorted and stood up. He couldn’t take any more of the old man.

  “Thanks for the update on my dad,” he said. “I’ll try to get up to see him soon.”

  “That’s nice,” Doomsayer said with a hint of sarcasm. “Better hurry.”

  Joe strode away upset. Why had he let Keaton get to him this way? Maybe because, he admitted, there was something to it. He stopped on the sidewalk in the dark, thought he felt a slight tremble, as if the ground shuddered. He thought how in the entire day of sightseeing with his family, they’d never left the inside of the Yellowstone caldera—that’s how big it was.

  He turned. “Professor, have you eaten dinner tonight?”

  “I’m really not hungry, but that’s a very nice offer. I could use a little drink, though.”

  “Follow me,” Joe said, suppressing an evil grin. “I’m buying.”

  INSIDE, MRS. HANSON was telling Lucy she’d read recently that measurements between rings of the trees within Yellowstone were proving to scientists, beyond doubt, that the ecosystem was dying, being tortured to death by carbon monoxide emissions from snowmobiles and snow coaches. Lucy listened wide-eyed. Marybeth feigned interest. Nate and Sheridan ate dessert and acted as if the Hansons weren’t there. Joe broke in, said, “Wasn’t that study written several years ago by Dr. Miles Keaton?”

  Mrs. Hanson and Josh looked up. “Why, yes,” she said, “I’m surprised you know that.”

  “I do manage to read when I’m not driving my gas-guzzling four-wheel drive around the ranch,” Joe said, which elicited a sharp glare from Marybeth. “Would you like to meet him?”

  “Dr. Keaton? He’s here?” She flushed. “I’d be honored!”

  “I just ordered him a drink at the bar,” Joe said. “He’s in there waiting for you.”

  Mrs. Hanson excused herself, telling Lucy, “It was great to see you, Lucy, but sometimes the teacher needs even more education, if you can believe that.”

  When the Hansons were gone, Marybeth looked suspiciously from Joe to Nate and asked, “What are you two smiling about?”

  THE IMAGE THAT would stay with Joe as he glanced into the bar after paying for dinner was Mr. and Mrs. Hanson’s bloodless, horrified expressions as Doomsayer wagged his finger in their faces.

  AS THEY WALKED back to their cabin, Nate dropped back from Joe and Marybeth and asked Sheridan and Lucy if they’d like to go hot-potting.

  “With swimsuits,” Nate added, for Marybeth’s benefit.

  Joe watched his older daughter carefully. Nate and Sheridan had once been master falconer and apprentice, but the relationship had severed. There had been a time, two years before, when Sheridan announced quite clearly that she didn’t care if she ever saw Nate Romanowski ever again. Nate tried to apologize to her for his transgressions but she’d hear none of it. Nate let it ride, biding his time. Now he was asking her and her sister to join him.

  “What’s hot-potting?” Lucy asked.

  Nate said, “It’s like sitting in a hot tub outside, only this hot tub is natural.”

  “Isn’t it illegal?” Marybeth asked.

  “Yes,” Nate said.

  Joe nudged his wife, and she got it. Nate was not only mending fences with Sheridan, he was working it so Joe and Marybeth could have some time alone together.

  “I’ve got a new pink suit,” Lucy said. “I was hoping I could use it. Sheridan, you brought yours, right?”

  Sheridan hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Can we go?” Lucy asked.

  “As long as you don’t get thrown in the Yellowstone jail,” Joe said.

  “So let me get this straight,” Sheridan said. “It’s legal to shoot and kill people in Yellowstone Park, but it’s against the rules to pick up a rock or go hot-potting?”

  “You’ve got it,” Nate said. “Thus begins your enlightenment and understanding of our federal government.”

  Marybeth laughed nervously, started to object, but again Joe nudged her.

  “Don’t be gone long,” Marybeth said.

  But long enough, Joe thought.

  “Okay,” Sheridan said, sighing, “I’ll go.”

  As they left the cabin, Sheridan paused at the door, rolled her eyes at her parents, and sighed again before leaving.

  “She knows,” Marybeth said.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Joe assured her.

  “Yes,” Marybeth said, “she does.”

  THEIR LOVEMAKING WAS furious and seemed dangerously illicit, as they kept expecting a knock on the locked cabin door when the hot-potters returned. Both feared either Sheridan or Lucy asking, “What are you two doing in there?”

  As usual, Joe overestimated his staying power and was up, dressed, and scanning the entrance gate videotapes when Nate and his daughters returned.

  27

  WHILE SHERIDAN AND LUCY GOT READY FOR BED IN the cabin, Joe and Nate sat outside under the porch light sipping bourbon and smoking Cuban cigars Nate dispensed from a box beneath the seat of his Jeep labeled “Fuses and Toilet Paper.”

  “I’ve never smoked a Cuban cigar before,” Joe said, marveling at its fruit-tinged smoothness. “I think I could get used to ’em.”

  “Don’t,” Nate said. “They’re illegal.”

  “Quintero Brevas,” Joe said, reading the label of his cigar, “Habana.”

  “Yup.”

  “I’m not going to ask how you got them,” Joe said. “Just like I’m not going to ask you what you do to make a living.”

  “Wiser that way,” Nate said, nodding in agreement, the red cherry of the cigar bobbing in the dark. “That way you’ve got plausible deniability. You need that. You’re a man of the law. At least you used to be. I’m not exactly sure what you are now.”

  “I’m begin
ning to wonder that myself.”

  “Governor Rulon’s private detective,” Nate said. “Range Rider Number One.”

  WHILE NATE READ over the thick printouts Marybeth had brought from her Internet search, Joe fast-forwarded through the entrance gate videotapes on his laptop from the East, Northeast, and South gates, looking for black SUVs.

  “Thanks for taking the girls hot-potting,” Joe said.

  “My pleasure.”

  “You mending fences with Sheridan?”

  Nate smiled. “She’s tough. But we’re getting there.”

  “Did you two talk about falconry?”

  “Let’s put it this way,” Nate said. “As I was handing her a towel when we were done, she asked about the peregrine.”

  “That’s not nothing.”

  “You’re right. Once those birds get in your bloodstream, they never get out.”

  JOE STRUGGLED TO concentrate on his screen and the images. He felt as if he were running on fumes. He was beyond tired from the full day of sightseeing and the night before spent in the hospital, but he was determined to see this through. If he stopped for even a minute, he thought, he would collapse with exhaustion. That wouldn’t do, because he felt he needed to keep the investigation moving forward. He’d learned over the years that often the thing that solved a case, especially one like this, with so many aspects and floating facts, was simple and unrelenting forward motion. By pushing ahead, even if he didn’t know exactly where he was going, he sometimes forced a reaction from the conspirators that might reveal them.

  The moon was a perfect thin slice of ice-white in a thick soup of stars that hardened as the temperature dropped near freezing. Although Nate was still warmed to the core from hot-potting and wore a fleece vest over his denim shirt, Joe was bundled in the hooded Carhartt coat he had worn on the Longbrake Ranch in the winter. He could feel exploratory fingers of cold pushing up his pant legs and down his collar. The cold helped him stay awake.