The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies (8 page)

Cooper was right. This was all interesting, but not likely to be of much help in finding Hofer's killer, and the call was getting expensive. “What about any other disagreements? Did Reuben get into personal conflicts with the supervisors or maybe other inmates? Can you think of anybody who might have had a grudge against him?”

“Anybody or nobody. There were the usual squabbles, one after another, but nothing out of the ordinary. Of course he got some grief because of the German accent. Nothing much though. Once in a while when he'd had one too many, he'd start singing German songs. That didn't go over so big with some of the staff.”

One too many? Reuben Hofer? “Were you allowed liquor at the camps?” It was a dumb question. If the men had stuck to doing what they were “allowed” they wouldn't have ended up in Gibb's Bay.

“We could leave the camp on Sundays. Somebody generally managed to bring back a supply. Reuben hadn't been a drinker, of course, and he couldn't hold his liquor worth a damn.”

Maybe McIntire was barking up the wrong tree. Murder was hardly ever the work of declared enemies. He asked, “Did Reuben have any particular friends?”

“Not that I knew of. Well, like I said, we were friendly, until I knuckled under.”

“What about outside the camp?” Like Wanda Hair-lady, for instance. “Did you ever go into town with him, yourself?”

“Once or twice. I got made
persona non grata
right off the bat. Reuben was better behaved.”

“On those trips did you ever meet a woman called Wanda Greely?” McIntire asked. “She's a beautician.”

“I don't think so. Are you telling me Reuben got mixed up with some woman? I guess I didn't know him all that well, after all.”

“I don't know if they were mixed up. She claims she knew him.”

Cooper didn't seem to be able to tell him anymore. He did add, before hanging up, “I saw Reuben again not so long ago. His wife was in the hospital here. He was still mad as hell about my ‘defecting.'”

“I heard.”

“How is she?”

“Getting along, but not well, as you can imagine.”

“Give her my best.” He didn't express sympathy for her loss.

Chapter Twelve

The hearse drove right through the yard, around to the back of the house, and up to the door. Claire watched from the barn while two men in black suits got out, and Jake and Sam helped them carry the coffin with Pa in it up the back steps and into the house. It seemed like a long time before the men came back out and went away, leaving Pa there.

“Come on, Boy, want to stretch your legs a little?” Spike trotted to the door ahead of her. He seemed to understand everything she said.

They only got to the edge of the barnyard before the Sister came out and yelled for her, but Claire acted like she didn't hear. She walked quick and stayed behind the trees so they couldn't see her from the house.

They didn't have woods by their house in Iowa, only willow trees along the river, and it was too muddy to walk there much. The trees here in Michigan were big; it was like being in a deep forest from long ago. She broke a leafy branch off a maple tree to swish away the mosquitoes, and walked along the path that went to the river.

“Claire! Come here!” It was Joey yelling now. Sister must have sent him to find her, but he wouldn't come all the way out here looking. Claire knew she couldn't stay in the woods forever, but she didn't want to go inside with Pa there. The longer she stayed away, the harder it would be to go back, and everybody would know she was just chicken. Putting things off only made them worse and made her look stupid.

Still, she kept going until she couldn't hear him anymore. She didn't have to go back just because Joey said. It was good to be away by herself. She stole swiftly and silently through the forest, like an Indian scout. She needed moccasins. Maybe Jake would go deer hunting this year, and she could use the hide to make some.

The path started to go downhill toward the river. Claire liked the green, cool river almost as much as the lake. She was close enough to catch the sound of water bubbling over stones when she heard voices. Men talking. “Here Spike!” She squatted down and said it low, but he stopped and looked at her. She patted her knees, and he came running. It might be somebody fishing. Or it might be murderers. An Indian scout would sneak close to listen. Claire took Spike in her arms and stood up. She took one baby step forward.

“Over here!” One of the men shouted, and Claire ran back down the path.

She only ran a little ways, then she put Spike down and walked. When she got almost back to the barnyard, Sam came through the gate, looking grumpy. “Where have you been? You better get back before Sister busts a gut.”

“Spike got scared by the hearse and ran away. I had to go find him.”

“Like hell.”

Claire didn't give a darn if Sam believed her or not. “There were some men, down by the river.”

“Sheriff Koski?” Sam sounded excited.

She hadn't thought of that. It must been the sheriff or some policemen.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Not very much,” she told him. “He was otherwise occupied.” Sam probably didn't even know what that meant.

Sister met her at the door and handed her a bucket of water. “You can wash the porch windows.” Then she said, “It's best to keep busy.” She didn't seem too mad.

There were only two windows in the porch, so washing them didn't keep Claire busy for long. After she was done, Ma put both her and Joey to work scrubbing the front steps.

Then she told them that there'd be company coming, and they should go put on their good clothes. It meant they had to pass through the front room, where Pa's coffin was, with him in it. They walked fast, and Claire tried to keep her eyes straight ahead so she wouldn't see it, but she couldn't help herself. After she actually looked, it wasn't so bad. She stopped. It was a big wooden box, she'd seen that much when they took it out of the hearse. Now it was sitting on a sort of cart, all covered with a white sheet.

She took a step toward it. Then Spike trotted in and practically went berserk. The hair stood up on his back and he whined and barked and ran in circles around the coffin.

“Get that animal out of here, and keep him locked up somewhere!” Sister came barreling in from the kitchen, and Claire caught Spike and took him upstairs.

She put on her Sunday dress and found a barrette for her hair. Joey had grown in the summer, so his school clothes didn't fit very well, but there wasn't anything they could do about that. His new white suit was hanging in the closet, but it was only for when he made his First Communion.

He sat on the floor and tugged to squeeze into his shoes. “They're getting way too small.”

“Don't be silly,” Claire kidded him. “They're the same size they always were.”

He stuck out his tongue at her.

Joking gave Claire the courage to say, “I wonder what he's wearing.”

“Who?”

“Pa. I wonder what he has on.”

Joey knew the answer to that. “Sister bought a suit for him in town. Tie this.” He stuck his foot up.

“If I do it, you'll never learn to do it yourself.” Claire said, but she got down and did it anyway.

“He's wearing a black suit.” Joey said. “Double-breasted.”

“What's that?” Once when Jake didn't know she was listening, Claire heard him say that he wanted to head west where men were men and women were double-breasted. She knew it was a joke.

“I don't know. But it is. Double breasted.”

Claire had never seen Pa with a suit on. “Nobody will see him wearing it,” she said. “Except maybe God.”

“Do you think he's in heaven?”

Was he? Up there looking down at them. Would he be even better at knowing every move they made than he was when he was alive? “How would I know? You need to get downstairs and wash your face.”

“He wasn't good. He got put in jail.” Sometimes Joey just wouldn't give up. “How bad do you have to be to go to Hell? Pa wasn't Catholic, so he couldn't go to confession and get the priest to forgive him. Do you have to be Catholic to go to Purgatory?”

“Probably not,” Claire said. “And, on second thought, there aren't all that many sins for people who aren't Catholic, so Pa is probably in Heaven already.” Joey didn't look like he believed her.

When they went back down, Claire looked straight at the coffin when she walked past.

They hardly had time to wash and comb their hair before Mrs. Maki showed up. She brought a cake and some teensy-weensy sandwiches an a plate. They moved Ma's chair into the front room so she could sit by the coffin.

After a while some other people came—Father Doucet, and Mia Thorsen. Her husband, Nick, came, too. He wasn't tall like she was, and he had dimples in his cheeks, which looked funny on somebody so old. The lady from the store was there and some others that Claire didn't know. One of them was a bent-over woman with a cane that Mrs. Thorsen said used to be her teacher when she was Claire's age. She looked exactly like a mean old maid teacher, but she wasn't one; her husband was there, too.

Claire said, “I wouldn't want her to be my teacher.”

They were in the kitchen, so Mrs. Thorsen could laugh out loud. “Well, you'd better mind your Ps and Qs, because now Mrs. Van Opelt is a judge!”

Everybody that came went in and looked at Pa's coffin and talked to Ma for a few minutes. Then they had coffee and food and talked to each other.

Claire stood between Joey and Sam by the windows. The sun was going down and it shone on the coffin under the sheet, like a skinny bed. It was strange to think of Pa sleeping forever in that box, in his new black double-breasted suit, not being able to see or hear all the people around, not knowing that people had come to visit, because he was dead. Unless he was looking down from heaven, or up from some place else.

Once Claire picked up a dead baby rabbit. It was newborn and didn't have any hair. It was the coldest thing she ever touched in her whole life. Colder than an icicle. She wondered if Pa would feel that way if she touched him.

Father Doucet bent down to talk to Ma. “Would you like me to say a few words?”

Ma shook her head. “I don't think so. Thank you all the same.” When he started to walk away, she touched his sleeve. “Have you got your violin with you?”

He got it from his car and stood by the end of the coffin. Everybody got quiet, and he started to play. It was soft, quiet music that made you think of butterflies and raindrops; not unhappy, except if you remembered that Pa wouldn't see those things ever again. At Grandpa's funeral, the church choir sang, and it sounded sad and mysterious. But this wasn't Pa's funeral. That was going to be at Prairie Oak, and they'd sing there, probably.

Beside her, Sam started to snuffle, and Father Doucet looked at Ma. Then his mouth made the smallest smile, and he bent forward so his hair bounced onto his forehead. He started to play again, music that gave Claire goose pimples, wild, like crashing waves or a hurricane—like crashing waves
in
a hurricane! A beam of red sunshine glinted off the fiddle and made Claire think of witches and devils with pitchforks dancing in the firelight, screaming and crying and laughing all at the same time. Jake put his hand over his ear.

Sister looked in from the kitchen. Then she left again, and, under the music, Claire heard the door slam.

Father Doucet didn't go on playing very long, but the music stayed in Claire's brain.

A short, wide lady with kinky black hair went up to Father and hugged him. She had tears in her eyes. It was funny that a woman they didn't even know was the only person crying. Except for Sam sniffling.

After that everybody went home. Jake and Sam did the chores. Mrs. Thorsen and Mrs. Maki offered to stay and help do the dishes, but Sister said her and Claire could handle it.

When they were done, Sister sat down in Ma's chair by the coffin, and the rest of them went to bed. For once Claire fell asleep right away, still feeling that wild fiddle music thumping through her chest.

But it was the thumping from downstairs that woke her up. Joey was standing by the window, looking out. He looked skinny in just his undershorts. “They're taking him away.”

Claire pushed back the sheet and got up.

There was a black car in the yard, a big one, and the hearse was there, too, with its wide doors opened like wings. The same two men, with Sam and Jake helping again, brought the coffin out again and slid it inside. The men stood, one on each side, and closed up the wings with Pa inside. Sister came out of the house with her carpet bag suitcase and got into the car. Sam and Jake got in, too, and they all drove away.

“He's gone,” Joey said.

Chapter Thirteen

Fifteen buckets of water and she hadn't even started on the corn yet. There had to be a better way. Mia switched off the pump and stooped to pick up the pails. The jangle of the telephone erupted through the kitchen window, and she stood erect. A short reprieve, maybe, if Nick could get to it in time. It stopped after three rings. Either he'd been in the kitchen already, or he was feeling better. Getting around better, anyway.

The shade on the open window popped up, and he called to her.

Mia squished her toes in her wet tennis shoes. “What's up?”

“Guibard. He wants to talk to you.”

Any excuse for a break in the one-woman bucket brigade was a good one, but what could the doctor want with her? Maybe he had in mind to convince Nick to try some kind of treatment. Or maybe he had some bad news.

“You coming in?”

“I'm on my way.” She set down the pails. “Moving in this heat is like swimming upstream.”

For Nick, moving was always like swimming upstream. For the thousandth time at least, Mia wished with every smidgeon of her being that she'd never pushed her husband into facing up to his illness. From the day, less than a year before, that he'd admitted to the Parkinson's, he'd gone downhill. As long as he'd been able to deny being sick, let people think he was just a drunk, he'd gotten along fairly well. He'd at least had his pride—odd as that might seem.

Mia wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, leaving a grey smudge, before taking the earpiece.

“I'm calling to ask a rather large favor.” Guibard sounded tired, and he was generally in the habit of telling, not asking. He didn't proceed until Mia said, “Go ahead.”

“I'm putting Mrs. Hofer into the hospital for a couple of days. What with everything that's happened and the heat, she's worn out, and I don't want it to get worse. We were hoping you might keep an eye on the kids. It's only the two young ones, the older boys have gone with the aunt to bury their father. The girl is reasonably responsible, but after what's happened it's not a good idea to leave them alone at the mercy of reporters and gawkers.”

Claire might be responsible, but she was still only a child. Surely their mother would never consider leaving them to take care of themselves for days, even without the gawkers. She asked, “You mean bring them here?”

“I'll understand if you'd rather not. I know you have your hands full. We can maybe get—”

“No! Of course I'll do it.”

“You sure? You need to check with Nick?”

“It'll be fine.” Mia felt a flush of elation. It was a pity the new bath wasn't ready, but she'd fire up the sauna. Take some soap and water to that hair. “No problem at all. I'll get a room ready now.”

“I can't thank you enough. Should we drop them off on the way, or do you want to come and get them?”

It would take some preparation, getting beds ready, and getting Nick ready, despite her assurances to the contrary. “I'll walk over and get them,” Mia said. “How soon you going?”

“Soon as I can get back over there. But don't rush. The kids are used to taking care of themselves. They'll be okay for an hour or two as long as nobody shows up to bother them.”

They were going through a terrible time. Getting away from the house where they'd lived with their father might do the children good. Take their mind off things. As Mia hung up the earpiece she realized she hadn't expressed any concern for Mary Frances. She hadn't even asked about her.

She'd seemed well enough at the impromptu wake, but it was hard to tell. She was subdued, but it wasn't like she was ever exactly vivacious, and under the circumstances you wouldn't expect her to be dancing around with a feather boa.

It had been an unconventional gathering. Not a wake, exactly. Most of the people hadn't known either Reuben or his family. The only tears to be shed were brought on by the effect of Father Doucet's fiddling on Lucy Delany. Where had he learned to play like that? Someplace familiar to Lucy, obviously. The music hadn't seemed to please the aunt much.

Nick had gone with the newspaper into the darkened living room. He only nodded when Mia told him they were to have company for a few days. It was impossible to read his thoughts; his face showed so little expression these days. Mia wasn't sure he'd understood, or even been listening, but she didn't explain further.

She bounded up the stairs with an armload of sun-dried sheets and entered the bedroom that might be the least stifling. It was the room she'd slept in from infancy, first sharing with John McIntire and Wylie Petworth, then had all to herself. It hadn't been slept in since she married Nick and they moved into her parents' old room. It was a child's bedroom, and their rare overnight guests had never included children.

Mia flung open the windows to let the sun drive out some of the closed-in smell.

The other spare room was in better shape. Nick's brother and his wife had used it only a few weeks before. Now that word had gotten out about Nick's illness, his family was turning up, one or two at a time. Mia liked Tony and Carol; they ought to have kept in touch better over the years.

Making up the beds and wiping away dust took the better part of an hour.

She gave a final pat to the spread and pictured the dark tousled head on the pillow. How lovely it would be…. She caught sight of her face, naked in its euphoria, in the foggy mirror and felt a sickening jolt. That little girl—those children—would be here because their mother was seriously ill and their father had gotten his head shot off, and here she was, flitting around like some giddy Mary Poppins.

She went downstairs sobered and tried to stay that way as she strode along the path she'd first taken when she was six years old, holding tight to Johnny McIntire's hand, through the pastures to the Black Creek schoolhouse.

Mark Guibard's gray car was parked in the shade of the spruce trees, but he and Mary Hofer hadn't waited around; the big Oldsmobile was gone. The two children sat on the steps with a cardboard box between them, eyes like sheep headed for slaughter. Maybe Mary Poppins was what they needed, after all.

“They took Pa's car,” Claire explained. She didn't have to explain why. “Doctor Guibard said you could use his car if you wanted.”

“We can walk. It's not very far.” Mia had driven their own dilapidated Dodge a few times that summer, but she wasn't about to risk crashing the doctor's jaunty coupe into a tree, or worse. The kids looked so disappointed she almost relented. “I'll bring you back in our car. Are you all set? Toothbrushes? Pajamas?”

It wasn't until Claire stood up and called out, “Here, Spike!” That Mia remembered about the dog. Nick might not object to the children, but Nick and dogs hadn't been on good terms since his days delivering the mail on a motorcycle. And a yappy little thing like this…. Mia made the timid suggestion, “Maybe he'd be better off at home.”

“He's just a pup.” The animal leapt into Claire's arms and she bent her cheek to his head. “He's housebroken.” She looked up. “We could stay here until night. I have to milk Opal, anyway, and feed the chickens.”

That wouldn't have been such a bad idea; sitting around passing the time of day with her, and Nick wasn't going to be the most fun those kids had ever had, but as Guibard had said, it wasn't a good time to leave the children alone, even in the middle of the afternoon. There was no telling who might turn up.

Claire stood on one foot, clutching the dog to her chest, rubbing the heel of her bare foot over a mosquito-bitten ankle. Her hair was a mass of knots again, her pink barrette askew. The shorts that ballooned over her toothpick legs had obviously been created with a scissors. Inspiration struck and Mia asked, “How would you like to go to the lake?”