A Roux of Revenge (21 page)

Lucky whispered in Jack’s ear. “What are they doing? Is that a bagpipe I heard?”

“Yes. I’d guess it’s a wake, a wake for the dead man.”

“If it really is some kind of a requiem, why haven’t they talked to Nate? Why didn’t they claim
the body legally?”

Jack shook his head. “It’s hard for you to understand. They can’t. These people do their best to avoid the police. They wouldn’t want to be involved in what we consider normal society. They’d just take care of their own.”

“You think they still have his body?”

“Oh no,” Jack murmured. “He’d be shrouded and buried already, someplace that’d be known only to them.”

“At the Stones?”

Jack shook his head. “I doubt it. Not if they consider that some sort of sacred place belonging to ancestors. But it’s best not to mention it.”

“Maybe we should wait until they’re done singing.”

“No need.”

“What do you mean?”

“We need to step out and introduce ourselves. They know we’re here.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“The music’s changed.”

Lucky listened. The next sound she heard was the ratcheting of a shotgun. A large man stood behind them on the dirt path, a long-barreled gun in his hands.

Chapter 30

“K
EEP WALKING AND
you won’t get hurt.” The man spoke in a gravelly voice with a lilting rhythm.

Lucky stopped breathing. She grasped Jack’s arm, immediately regretting her decision to
come here, regretting that she had exposed Jack to this. He was strong, but he was elderly.

Lucky shone her flashlight at the man’s face. He was at least fifty years old and heavyset with a square broad face. He wore dark rough work pants and only a flannel shirt in spite of the chill night. He didn’t turn away from the light.

“Come on, Jack,” she whispered.

They turned away from the
man with the shotgun and walked the rest of the way into the clearing. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Jack muttered.

At least twenty people stood in a circle watching them carefully as they approached. The music had stopped. Men, women and children, all ages, all sizes, their faces lit by the flames of their campfire, stood in silence, watching their progress. Lanterns were placed all around
the clearing, creating bright spots and elongated shadows. Lucky noticed the woman she had seen playing the large bass at the festival. If someone had been playing a bagpipe, it wasn’t in evidence now. Three large RVs and two vans formed a semicircle around the site. No one spoke a word as they approached. Lucky glanced back. The shotgun was still aimed at them. When she and Jack neared the
fire, a shadow at the rear moved and came forward. It was the man who had been watching the restaurant for days, the violin player from the festival.

“What business do you have here?” he asked.

Lucky had no doubt he was well aware who they were. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. We only wanted to talk to you.”

“Did you bring the police?”

“No.” Lucky waited while the stranger mulled
over the possibilities. “We only wanted to talk to you about Janie.”

His face softened. He whispered the name. “Janie. Jane. Is that her name?”

“Yes.” Lucky nodded.

“Please. We don’t mean to be rude. Come forward.” He gestured to a young man who then carried three rough wooden stools close to the fire.

Lucky turned and saw that the man in the flannel shirt had lowered his shotgun.
She sat close to the campfire and warmed her hands. For a moment she was ten years old again, ice-skating at the pond, skating until she was chilled to the bone, her feet stiff with cold, her toes numb. She’d rest by the fire until sensation returned and head back to the ice to do it all over again.

“The music was beautiful. I thought I heard a bagpipe playing.”

Eamon nodded. “A
piobaireachd
—a lament.” He stared at Lucky intently. “I never meant to frighten her.”

Lucky was sure this man was Janie’s father. It was the shift in his expression, the way he softly spoke the name.

“Are you really Eamon?”

“I am.”

“And the man they found at the accident on the road?” Lucky was curious how he would respond.

Something flashed in his eyes. He glanced around at the group of
people who stood back, but were obviously curious. “I think you already know the answer to that. He never died from that accident. He was shot.”

“We heard,” Jack spoke.

Eamon looked at him, studying the old man’s face. “And do you know who did that to him?”

Jack shook his head. “No. That’s what the police want to know. They’re fairly sure he’s one of your group, but they can’t prove
it. And now . . .” Jack trailed off, not wanting to put Eamon on the spot about stealing the body.

Lucky needed to bring the conversation back to Janie. “Your daughter knows who you are.”

“She does? How?”

“Her mother told her.”

“Morag?”

Lucky remembered that Miriam had confided her birth name. “Yes. She’s called Miriam now.”

Eamon stared into the fire for a long time. He
finally spoke. “I had no idea. No idea at all about the child . . . Jane.” Again, he whispered the name as if afraid to speak it aloud.

Lucky longed to ask him why he would abandon a woman he supposedly loved, to leave her on her own with less than nothing to survive on, but she was afraid to break the shaky welcome they had gained. Jack sat silently, saying nothing and studying Eamon’s face.

“You were there that day.” He turned toward Lucky. “I saw you at the festival. You were with the police.”

“That was Nate. He’s the Chief of Police. He’s a friend, a good friend of my grandfather’s,” she said, indicating Jack.

“Are they still holding Daniel?”

“Daniel? Is that the man who ran away from the pony corral?”

Eamon nodded. “My nephew.”

“No. They’re not. Nate didn’t
arrest him. He only wanted to ask him some questions.”

“If the police aren’t holding Daniel, then why hasn’t he come back to us?”

Lucky was taken aback. “Nate told us Ernie White, the man who runs the festival, bailed him out. Well, not bailed him out, because he really wasn’t under arrest, but picked him up from the police station,” Lucky offered.

“Daniel would never have gone with
him. He’s afraid of the man.” Eamon exchanged a cryptic look with the man who held the shotgun. “We don’t know where he is. He hasn’t come back here, and he hasn’t shown up at the festival.”

“Do you want us to talk to Nate about him? Maybe someone in town has seen him.”

Eamon shook his head. “No.” He offered no other explanation. “We’ll find him ourselves.”

He turned back to Lucky.
“What is she like?” he asked.

Lucky smiled, knowing he referred to Janie. “She’s a dear. She’s full of energy, high-strung I guess you’d say, but a really kind person. She finished high school last year. She’s well liked by everyone and she has two close girlfriends. No boyfriend as yet, at least none that I know of. She’s . . . she was very close to her mother always . . . well, until this
came to light. She’s vulnerable right now. She’s just out of her teenage years, and she’s learned her parents have lied to her—the parents she knows at least. She’s staying with me right now because she’s angry at her mother and refuses to talk to her. Her father, I mean her mother’s husband, died just a few months ago. Janie was very close to him, so now, I guess you’d say, she’s in a state of
shock,” Lucky continued. “We came here tonight because . . . well, I’m hoping perhaps you could talk to her, explain what happened, help her understand. I’ve talked to Miriam, but I don’t feel I have the right to say much to Janie. It’s really her mother’s place or yours . . .” Lucky trailed off.

“I will. I’ve been afraid, but I will do that. I’m sure Jane has had a better life than any I
could have given her. Morag kept her secrets. She had her reasons; I can’t argue with that. But blood is blood. I never knew about her, and if she’s my daughter and I have no doubt she is, then I at least have the right to talk to her, to hear her voice, that’s all I ask. And maybe explain some things to her—that’s if she’ll talk to me.”

“Good. That’s all I wanted to say. Something has to
break this impasse.”

Eamon took a deep breath as though in dread of approaching his daughter, fearful of the wounds she could inflict upon him. “You should go now. Ronan will take you back.” He gestured to the man who stood near. The shotgun had disappeared.

“Good night. And thanks for talking to us.”

“Thanks to you.” Eamon stood.

The man called Ronan walked with them down the
rise to Lucky’s car. He opened the driver’s door for Lucky without saying a word. Lucky waited until Jack had his seat belt in place before she started the engine. The road was so narrow, she was forced to back down the hill until they came to the paved road that led them back to the turn off and the Old Colonial Road.

Once they had gone a mile or so and were nearing the town, Lucky breathed
a sigh of relief. She reached over to squeeze Jack’s hand. “I’m glad you wanted to come with me, Jack. I wouldn’t have liked to tackle those people alone.”

“They’re all right. They’re just . . . what’s the word for a throwback in time?”

“An anachronism.”

“Yes, that’s the word I couldn’t think of. But they see themselves as free.”

“Are they free? Really? Always looking over their
shoulders? Afraid of the authorities? Having to skulk over borders? Maybe the best way to be free is to conform, to be just another number on the government’s records. Think how hard just their daily routine must be.”

“There’s that,” Jack replied. He was silent a moment as Lucky took the curves in the road back to town. “It’s sad though. The world is determined to squeeze them out. We’re all
numbered and accounted for, with spy satellites beeping out in space that can track us in our homes and pretty soon televisions that’ll work both ways. No one will have any privacy anymore. It’s a frightening new world for somebody my age, and these people are the last ones to resist. The last of the free spirits.”

Chapter 31

L
UCKY STUMBLED OUT
to the kitchen the following morning. She felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her neck was stiff from a night of dreaming about frightening people, their faces lit by a
campfire. A result, no doubt, of her visit to the travelers with Jack the night before. She filled the kettle with water and put it on the burner to heat. She glanced at the kitchen sink. Janie must have had another kitchen adventure. A pile of dirty dishes filled the sink. The girl didn’t seem to be able to boil water without using every pot and pan in the house. Lucky had tiptoed in the night before
and made a point of not even looking in the kitchen. She had been too exhausted to deal with another mess.

She sighed. She could put her foot down and insist that Janie do a better job of clearing up her messes, or she could leave the girl alone in her misery. Lucky opted for the latter. She wasn’t sure what state Janie was in, but she didn’t want to cause an upset that would make Janie flee
into the night. She needed Janie at the restaurant and needed to know Janie was safe. She turned on the faucets, dribbled dish soap and let the basin fill up with soapy water.

When the kettle whistled, she turned off the stove and scooped coffee into a filter. Should she make two cups and wake Janie up? Lucky checked the clock. Seven forty-five. It was time to wake her. She called Janie’s
name as she walked down the hall to the living room. Clothes were strewn over chairs, several pairs of shoes were thrown under a table. Janie’s backpack was lying on the floor, its contents spilled. A pile of blankets covered the sofa. Janie was buried somewhere underneath.

“Janie,” Lucky called.

“Janie?” She waited. No response.

The hairs on the back of Lucky’s neck rose. The room
was too still. She walked slowly to the sofa and pulled the covers back. The couch was empty. No Janie.

Lucky’s stomach clenched in a knot. Where was she? Had she gone out very early? It was late when she and Jack had returned to town after their talk with the travelers, and she had been exhausted. The lights were out in the living room, and she had assumed Janie was already asleep. What if
she hadn’t been asleep? What if she hadn’t come back to the apartment last night? Where could she be?