Cold Black Earth Page 15

  Jim Holmes lived a mile or so north of Ontario, on a farm that looked middling prosperous, with a couple of grain bins and a barn that could use a coat of paint but had a recently replaced sliding track door. Rachel sat in the car for a moment after joining a dozen or so cars parked on the grass along the drive, reluctant to go in. The feeling of appalled dread had taken hold of her again, and she did not expect it to be relieved by mingling with people who had cared for Carl Holmes and would be dazed and wounded by his slaughter. She got out of the car.

  In the kitchen were women she knew, tending to food: Karen Larson was there, along with other women of her generation, and Jim’s sister Sherry. The greetings were subdued. “I’m so sorry,” Rachel murmured, stepping back from a hug with Sherry.

  “It’s a shock,” said Sherry, looking baffled and hurt. “I mean, God, why? It’s just so . . . evil.” Words failed her. Rachel allowed herself to be steered into the living room, where the main gathering was.

  Rachel had been to a few funeral gatherings in her time, and she sensed instantly that this one was different. There was none of the closure, the unstated relief that prevailed when an elderly person passed on. The mood here was sullen. Men stood in knots, muttering; women held the couches, regarding the men warily. Matt nodded at her from across the room, standing with their cousin Steve. Some faces there were familiar from the basketball game: Tommy Swanson, Bobby Jacobs, a couple of others. Rachel’s entrance had been noted, but nobody was in the mood for cheerful reunions. She made her way to where Jim Holmes stood, rubicund and heavy but recognizably the boy she had known twenty-five years before. She made her condolences, and Jim said, “You came home at a bad time. Too bad you had to land in the middle of this.”

  “Oh, Jim. It’s so awful. I’m sorry. You must have been close to him.”

  Jim shrugged. “I guess. He never had no kids, so he kind of spoiled his nieces and nephews. He was the rowdy uncle who always did fun stuff like give us rides on his motorcycle. He was a character.”

  That brought a rumble of agreement from the company. “Here’s to him,” a man said, and bottles were raised.

  Tommy Swanson said, “You were the one found Ed Thomas, weren’t you?”

  Rachel nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “And your brother found Carl?”

  “Somebody else found Carl. Matt just got the call.”

  “Still. The police must be all over you.”

  “That’d be about par for the course for the cops around here,” said Jim. “Waste their time messing with Rachel and Matt instead of tracking down this maniac.”

  “They brought in all these experts from Peoria and Springfield and God knows where, and they still can’t find their own asses to wipe ’em.”

  “They come and search your outbuildings yet?” said another man. “They did mine.”

  Tommy nodded. “They had the dogs out the other day, down by the creek. Going through the woods.”

  “If they haven’t found him it’s because he ain’t around,” said the first man. “I think he’s got himself a room in Peoria or someplace, comes up here at night to go hunting.”

  That set off a general debate. Rachel extricated herself and started across the room toward Matt, but before she got there she found herself looking down at a frail elderly woman in a wheelchair and, sitting next to her at the end of a sofa, Dan Olson. “Hey, Rachel,” he said.

  “Danny.” She halted and stared at him, caught speechless. He was in a sport jacket but without a tie, cowboy boots showing beneath the cuffs of new blue jeans; he looked freshly groomed and almost civilized but wore a gaunt, brooding look. “Hi,” she said, and was embarrassed by her inanity.

  “You know my Aunt Peggy?” Dan cocked a thumb at the woman in the wheelchair. She wore a shiny gray wig that looked about as convincing as a Halloween mask over glazed eyes in a thin wasted face. She had a tube up her nose. She was clearly in pain, physical or psychic or both.

  Rachel bent to take her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “What an awful thing.”

  The woman quivered with effort, and from her throat came a ragged whisper. “It’s horrible.” A tear gathered at the corner of her left eye.

  Dan reached out and patted her hand. “They’ll catch him, Aunt Peg. They’ll get the son of a bitch.”

  Rachel was paralyzed. Dan caught her eye and for an instant his expression softened. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” he said.

  Rachel fled to join Matt and Steve in their corner.

  “Ain’t this fun?” Matt said.

  “It’s unbearable.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” said Steve. “If these guys had any kind of idea where to find Otis Ryle, they’d be getting a lynch mob together. You gotta wonder what the cops are doing. How hard can it be to find this guy? I know I’m about ready to put in a call to the folks I know down in Springfield, get a little action.”

  Matt said, “It’s a manpower issue. They can’t even find all the meth labs stashed out here.”

  “Well, they better find this asshole fast. Becky’s scared to go anywhere at night. My kids are freaking out, too. Tina came and jumped in bed with us last night. She hadn’t done that since she was four years old. Fucking terrified.” Steve was glaring out over the room. “Jim and Tommy were talking about organizing patrols. Or an escort service or something, make sure our wives can make it home safe.”

  “Vigilantes,” said Matt. “There you go.”

  “Don’t knock it,” said Steve. “If the cops can’t do anything, it’s up to us.”

  Get me out of here, Rachel thought. She said, “I’ll see if they need help in the kitchen.” She edged through the throng, snagged briefly by Becky and the other women but cutting the conversations short, her feeling of oppression mounting toward panic.

  In the hallway she came face to face with Dan, emerging from a bathroom. “How you doing?” Rachel said.

  His eyes went past her into the living room. “I gotta get the fuck out of here.”

  Rachel’s heart leapt. “Me, too. Can we slip out a window?”

  Dan cast a look over his shoulder, placing a hand on Rachel’s arm. “I don’t know about that, but there’s a side door through the den here.”

  19

  They went and sat in Dan’s truck, which was parked a hundred feet from the house, screened from it by another pickup. Dan started the engine and when it was warm he turned on the heater. The view out the windshield was to the south, the Ontario water tower rising in the distance. “My aunt can’t catch a fuckin’ break,” Dan said. “She lost both her kids, now this.”

  “God, I’m so sorry.”

  “Carl was kinda rough around the edges, but he was good for her. Then she got sick. Jesus, that poor woman’s had enough bad luck for five or ten people.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Cancer. In her throat. She can’t hardly eat anymore, but most of the time she doesn’t seem to be in a lot of pain. They give her good drugs. But we’re coming up on the end. The docs give her maybe a month before we have to take her to the hospice. It ain’t pretty.”

  “That’s how my mother went. But I missed most of it.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “I wasn’t there. And that still hurts.”

  “You had your reasons. You had your life to lead.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I tell myself.”

  They fell silent for a while, listening to the whistling wind, watching bare branches toss. “I remember when Frank Hartfield got killed racing that train to the crossing. It was a shock and all, but it was also like, well, he had it coming, the dumbass. But this . . .” Dan shook his head. “It hurts. It just makes you feel sick.”

  Rachel tracked a flight of geese across the sky. “It hurts because it’s a violation. An accident’s different. This is an injury, it’s personal.”

  Dan grimaced, rubbed his face hard, sighed. Looking out the windshield he said, “Are you having nightmares? I am.�
��

  “Yeah, I’ve had a few.”

  “I always thought I was pretty tough. But I’m not tough enough for this.”

  “Nobody is.”

  He turned to her, and all the irony was gone, all the cockiness and humor and bravado. Dan Olson was showing the years today, and all the hard knocks. “Remember growing up, being seventeen, eighteen?”

  “Barely.”

  “Remember how you felt like you could do anything? I did, anyway.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “I was gonna make it in football, play in the NFL, all that shit. And then, even after that, when I got cut, I was like well, OK, what the hell, we’ll try something else. And I thought, You can always come back and farm. Christ. I used to be an optimist.”

  Rachel could feel it happening, with a strange detachment. We like them most when they’re vulnerable, she thought. “Me, too. Up until not too long ago. I thought I was basically doing what I should be doing, having the life I should have. And then my job started to become impossible, my marriage went away. And all of a sudden I was a failure.”

  Dan put his hand over hers where it lay on the seat. “You’re not a failure. You went out and conquered the world. Jesus, Rachel. You know how proud you made your family?”

  Her head drooped. “Then why do I feel like I let them down?”

  “Beats the shit out of me. I’m the one never amounted to nothing.”

  My turn, thought Rachel. She felt as if she were reading from a script. She lifted her eyes to Dan’s and said, “Why, because all you did was raise three good kids? Isn’t that plenty? You did what you were supposed to do.”

  They just looked at each other then, and Rachel knew it was happening, and she knew it was what she wanted even though just a few hours before she would have sworn it was never going to happen. The look went on until it was time to take the next step or get out of the truck, and she knew she wasn’t going to get out into the cold.

  They started to lean at just about the same time, and Dan’s hand went to the back of her neck as hers went to his cheek, and as kisses went it was pretty good. Rachel didn’t know how she’d done without this for so long. Yes, she thought, I want this.

  They drew back just enough for Dan to say, “You want to come to my place?”

  “I’ll follow you in my car,” she said, and then she got out into the cold.

  I’m not afraid, Rachel thought. For the first time in days, I’m not afraid. I am lying in darkness in a strange house but I am not afraid.

  Outside, the wind was still gusting, but it sounded far away and ineffectual. Here in Dan’s bed she was warm, naked under blankets with his breath on her shoulder, his arm across her belly, a leg crooked over hers. There was just enough light coming in through a window to show the contours of the room, the shapes of a dresser and a desk, a heap of clothes on a chair. The red figures on the digital clock by the bed said 7:34.

  Here I am, she thought, in Danny Olson’s bed. She smiled in the dark. She was not afraid, and, for the moment at least, she was content.

  There were many potential disasters lurking in an unplanned dash for the bedroom, and none of them had come to pass. His house, though barely noticed in passing, was tidy enough; Dan himself had been calm and in control in the preliminaries. Disrobing had involved no more than the usual awkwardness and had revealed no unpleasant surprises; the still-powerful chest and shoulders diverted attention nicely from the slightly expanded middle. Rachel’s flare of anxiety with regard to mechanics had been defused by the casual production of a condom from a drawer. And then she had finally been able to abandon herself.

  It was never as good as you dreamed, but sometimes it wasn’t bad. It was good to be wanted; it was good to be held and touched and taken. Dan was un-self-conscious and reasonably practiced and patient and finally passionate to about the right degree. Rachel had had plenty worse.

  This will do, she thought, this will do for the time being.

  She thought Dan had dropped off to sleep and was loath to stir and wake him, but his breathing changed and he shifted, rolled onto his back and cleared his throat and said, “You think the party’s still going on over there?”

  She gave it a token breath of laughter, and he rose up above her supported on an elbow. “You just took one hell of a lousy day and turned it around about 180 degrees. Make that a lousy week.”

  “Hasn’t been a great month, has it?”

  “It’s basically sucked for a while around here.”

  Rachel worked her head into the crook of his arm. “Maybe it’s bottomed out. It can only get better, right?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “This helps.”

  “Sure does.” He kissed her and then rolled onto his back and pulled her to him and lay there just holding her. He didn’t seem to need to talk any more than Rachel did, and she was grateful.

  They got up after a while, and he put on a pair of sweat pants and a flannel shirt and found her a bathrobe. They went down to his kitchen, and he heated a can of soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches under the broiler and got a couple of beers out of the refrigerator. “Romance,” he said. “I was going to lay in some caviar and champagne but the food mart at the truck stop was fresh out.”

  “Who needs caviar when you have a hunk of cheddar? God, I was hungry.”

  “I could thaw some pork chops. Perk of the job. I get all the hog meat I can eat.”

  “No, this is perfect.” She looked around the kitchen, seeing ancient, battered linoleum and grout missing between tiles. But there were no dirty dishes languishing in the sink, no smells, and the floor looked as if it got washed once in a while.

  “It’s a dump, I know,” said Dan. “Hasn’t been remodeled in about fifty years.”

  Rachel shrugged, looking out the window over the sink at trees in a hollow behind the house. “It’s cozy. It reminds me of our kitchen before Margie remodeled it.”

  “It’s just like it was when I was a kid. I guess it’s nostalgia. I want everything to be the way it was.”

  “Boy, do I understand that. Ever since I got home I’ve been feeling it. I want my mom and dad back, I want to be twelve again. I want to be taken care of.”

  He smiled at her. “I got a feeling you don’t need much taking care of.”

  “OK, comforted maybe. I want somebody to tell me it’s all right.” She reached out and put her hand over his where it lay on the table. “This helps.”

  He took her hand. “You sure are beautiful,” he said.

  She reached up and ran a knuckle over his cheek, which was beginning to need a shave. “That’s good to hear once in a while. Thanks.”

  “Don’t know how you could doubt it. Don’t you have a mirror?”

  “Keep talking, Romeo.”

  “I remember you when you were a freshman. I remember thinking, give her a couple of years and she won’t be too bad. But then I graduated and missed it.”

  “Oh, terrific. ‘Not too bad,’ huh?”

  “And then I saw you once when you were home from college, and I thought, Jesus. Matt’s little sister turned into a knockout.”

  There was never any good response to that kind of thing except to smile demurely and avert one’s eyes. “And here we are.”

  She knew she could stay the night if she wanted, and she also knew it would be a bad idea. Dan seemed to be on the same wavelength, which was good. Please, she thought, let it be easy for once. Let it be just a nice casual fling, a port in the storm, no complications. I’m due for a break.

  When she had showered and dressed, Dan was back in jeans and boots and in the kitchen, cleaning up. “I’ll follow you home,” he said.

  She stared at him, startled. She had forgotten what was out in the night. She drew a deep breath and said, “If you think you should.”

  “I do.” He turned, drying his hands. “I don’t like the way it happened to Carl. The guy must have waylaid him somehow, got him to stop. If he’s out there tonight, you sh
ouldn’t be driving around alone.”

  Rachel nodded. She almost told him about the gun in her purse, but she realized that would be just posturing; she was a lot happier relying on Dan Olson for protection than on her dubious skills with a firearm. “OK. You want to come over for a while, hang out with me and Matt?”

  Dan grinned at her. “You think we could keep our hands off each other?”

  She had to smile. “Maybe not. Come to think of it, I might be a little embarrassed.”

  He took a couple of steps and she was in his arms. “Let’s say good night now. You know where I live. Matt’s got my number.”

  As a seal on the evening’s proceedings, the tone was perfect. The embrace was well calibrated, fervent but not crushing. The kiss was terrific.

  Rachel flicked her headlights as she turned into the drive. Dan gave a couple of quick honks in response and went on west. She pulled the Chevy up at the back steps, cut the engine and lights, and just sat there for a short while. There were lights on in the house and Matt’s truck was there. Rachel was in good spirits but there were sober realities to return to.

  She cast a wary eye around as she got out of the car, but she did not feel frightened as she covered the few steps to the door. It would take a while for the night to be benign again, but the malevolence had receded a step or two.

  Inside she found Matt sitting at the kitchen table. She halted in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

  There were two empty beer bottles in front of him and a third in progress. Matt had changed out of the suit and sat at his normal place at the table, but something about the slump of his shoulders told Rachel that something more than postfuneral depression was bothering him. No, she thought. Not again.

  “Have a nice time?” Matt said.

  His tone was not hostile, exactly, but it wasn’t a friendly inquiry. Rachel stepped forward and laid her purse on the table. “Yeah. We did. I hope we didn’t make a scandal.”