Green Lake (17 page)

Hormones raged among the lake mutant men, she found herself thinking. They were all insane.

With one exception.

She had looked in his garage when she came home but saw no truck inside. She cooked dinner and ate while keeping an eye out for either Eris or Sherman Tanner. She saw Tanner come up the road just after nine-thirty, minus the dog. He was headed for the cemetery. Her hand was on the phone to call Gloria Birdy when she saw Eris's truck stop at his mailbox. She ran to the bathroom to put in her diaphragm before skipping out of the house. She caught Eris just as he stepped onto his porch and she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his middle. She heard what sounded like a chuckle out of him as he reached awkwardly around her to open his door and carry her inside. She kissed his face and neck and told him how much she had missed him and how happy she was to see him. Then she smelled the blood on him. She leaned away and saw it staining the front of his shirt and the tops of his trousers. She slowly slid out of his arms.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said. ”A semi hit some cows.”

She made a face and looked at her own clothes. They were still clean.

Eris dropped his mail into the chair and Madeleine suggested he clean up while she fixed something to eat. He nodded and moved tiredly down the hall to the bathroom while Madeleine went to forage in his kitchen.

Twenty minutes later she had a tuna salad sandwich, tomato, pickles, and hard-boiled eggs to eat. Eris came out with wet hair and wearing nothing but a pair of old jeans to sit down in his chair. Madeleine carried a plate in to him and found him staring at an envelope in his hand, his expression strange.

She put the plate down on the table beside the chair and moved behind him to look at the envelope. It was from an adoption agency.

“Open it,” she said softly.

“I don't want to,” he said. “Not right now.”

“Not in front of me?” she asked. “When did you write them?”

“Almost a year ago.”

“You've written others?”

“Yes.”

“You're looking for your natural parents?” she asked, then shook her head. “Obviously you are. I'm sorry if I sound dumb. I wish you would open it.”

He put down the envelope and picked up the sandwich.

Madeleine bit her lip and moved to sit down on the floor in front of him, facing the television. After a moment he picked up the remote and turned it on. She sat and watched a program she couldn't name while he finished eating. When he put the plate on the table beside him and made no move to pick up the letter, she said, “Do you want me to go?”

He said nothing, only sat in his chair.

Madeleine got up and left. On the way to her cabin she saw Tanner coming back. She kept her head down and went inside, unable to face anyone at the moment.

In the bathroom she removed her diaphragm and then went into her bedroom to put on her T-shirt. She was in bed with the covers pulled over her head when she heard a knock at her door. She left the bed and went into the living room, half expecting to see Dale Russell outside. She peered past the curtain on the window and sighed in relief.

She unlocked the door and opened it. Eris stepped inside and wordlessly took her in his arms. He was still shirtless and the scarred skin of his back felt slightly cool from the night air. Madeleine held him and closed her eyes, wanting to ask why he closed himself off from her, why he turned away from her and hurt her so badly.

She said nothing, only sought his mouth when he pulled back to look at her. There was as much desperation in his kiss as in hers, and she could only wonder what the letter had said to make him hold her so fiercely and kiss her so deeply, until she had to tear her mouth away and gasp for breath.

Eris shoved the door shut and pulled her into the hall. As he led her into the bedroom she thought of nothing but the sharp, sweet, arcing pains in her middle and what would help assuage them. There was nothing else.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dale Russell ran across Shelly Bigelow sometime after midnight. He was still brooding over Madeleine Heron and how she had managed to make him feel like shit from a Chihuahua when he saw the drunken girl staggering back to the bay where her father's pontoon boat was docked. Without thinking, he cut the lights on his truck and eased off the accelerator to quietly follow her. He thought about busting her for some offense or another, but Dale knew her father would have her out and about again in no time. They lived near Emporia, where the old man had a huge spread, lots of acreage and cattle, and he spent most of the summer on the pontoon boat on the lake while his wife ran the ranch. Dale had never actually seen the wife. He knew only the old man and his daughter, Shelly, mainly because Shelly had made a point of making herself known to Dale last year.

She used every opportunity to run up and blab, or to touch him in some suggestive way, until the night of the most recent dance, when he finally told her to get lost. The uppity little snot had laughed and said it was fine with her. Everyone on the lake knew what a joke Russell was, how his job wasn't a real job, and how the Department of Wildlife and Parks just wanted him out of the way somewhere safe, where he couldn't get into too much trouble, so his aunt, the governor, would stay happy.

Dale let it go because he had no choice. People were listening, looking, and whispering. How she knew what she did was what pissed him off, and he couldn't help but wonder who had been doing all the talking.

Had to be somebody from the lake office. Somebody who knew the Bigelows.

His job wasn't a real job? Just because he patrolled the water in a boat didn't mean he wasn't working. He got sick of it. He hated staying at the lakes all day every day while Renard got to drive all over and screw around for the whole day if he wanted. Just one day Dale wanted to follow Renard and see exactly what he did. No one was that dedicated to a job, particularly when unsupervised.

Of course Dale realized what a plum assignment he had pulled the last two years. There was not a great deal of nefarious industry at
Green Lake.

Renard had arrested only four people in connection with drug-related activity last year. The lake traffic wasn't too much. The place was clean and he enjoyed the water. Or at least he had before Kayla Lyman came along and ruined it for him.

But he wouldn't mind a little more responsibility, say having his own area the way Renard did, and actually being able to draw his gun once in a while.

Renard had been shot at twice, both times when he was out trying to catch spot-lighters. Dale wasn't too crazy about that, but there were ways to avoid being shot at.

Not that he was a coward. He wasn't. A coward could not have done what he did. He killed a little girl to cover up a terrible, unfortunate mistake. Her death had been an act of desperation on his part, something he was training himself to forget.

And it was working. The memory of her death struggles was already fading. It was the part before, the good part, that he remembered.

Dale's nostrils flared as he thought of the mess concerning the Lyman’s. The wife had confessed to Renard and Renard told everyone else and brought the cops back to the lake again to ask questions and make everyone feel as if they were guilty of something when all they had done was help look for a missing little girl who wasn't missing at all. People didn't know when to leave well enough alone. They didn't know when to keep their mouths shut.

Like snotty Shelly, spouting off in front of everyone at the dance. Dale had smiled and laughed, all the while wanting to slam his fist into that flapping mouth of hers.

His foot pressed ever so slightly on the accelerator as she turned on the road leading down to where the pontoon was docked. She held out her arms as if for balance, and Dale's gaze locked onto her spine as his foot pressed down even harder on the accelerator. Almost before he knew what he was doing, before his unconscious spoke to his conscious mind, she was turning in the darkness to see the approaching vehicle. Dale mashed even harder with his foot, and when he saw the sunglasses on the dumbshit's face he jerked on his headlights so the glare would be all she could see.

The truck slammed into her doing thirty-five miles an hour and she was thrown nearly twenty feet down the road, landing only a few yards from her daddy's precious pontoon boat.

Dale's anger fled him at the sound of the squishy, sickening thud at the front of the truck and was replaced by panic. He looked frantically around him and floored the accelerator again to escape before anyone chanced a look out a window. He thanked God it was so dark around the lake at night and realized in just seconds he had broken into a full sweat, soaking the collar of his shirt and the area around his armpits.

Nervous laughter erupted from his throat, quickly followed by several choking sobs of terror. The sound of intractable metal and plastic impacting with fragile flesh, bone, and tissue replayed itself in his mind over and over as he sped away.

Then, slowly, he began to calm himself. No one had seen him. Just like with the little girl at the Haven, no one had been around and no one saw what he did. He was on the road all alone. She was the only one out walking. The place was pitch black and stayed that way thanks to the drunken assholes who liked to shoot out the lights around the bay areas.

A sudden thought struck him then, and he drove as quickly as he could to an area he knew was lighted so he could get out and look at the front of his pickup.

It was fine. Later model trucks were equipped with resilient grills that held up against just about anything a person ran into, dogs, deer, or drunken teenaged sluts.

He took a flashlight and went over the front of the truck inch by inch, looking for hairs or flesh or specks of blood, and wiped with a towel every little spot he found.

Then he began to think about Shelly lying down there on the road and wondered how long it would be before anyone found her.

He wondered if he had killed her, or if she was possibly still alive, struggling in her drunken stupor to hold on.

God, what a mess, he told himself, suddenly remorseful. Poor, dumb little bitch. What was she doing out so late? Why was she alone? If only someone had been with her, he would never have done what he did.

After thinking about it for an hour, Dale drove to Fayville and made an anonymous call to the police.

Half an hour later his beeper went off, and when he called in he was told by a grumpy, grousing voice that Renard wasn't answering his beeper and someone had to go down to Diamond Bay, where a hit-and-run accident had occurred.

“Who was the victim?” Dale asked.

”A young girl.”

“Is she dead?”

“Close to it. She was able to make enough noise for someone to find her, but she's unconscious now. Go on down there and see what you can do for the police. And if you see Renard, tell him to call in.”

Dale didn't think he would see Renard, and he was overjoyed to be called into service in his stead. He wondered briefly what was wrong with Renard's beeper, but all thoughts of the tall Indian were dismissed from his mind as he put the truck in gear and drove as quickly as he could to
Diamond Bay and the scene of the accident.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

While Madeleine slept in his arms, Eris stared into the darkness of her bedroom and wondered what he would do when he met his mother. He knew he would call the number the adoption agency had given him. It seemed to have taken him forever to realize that it was in fact a telephone number, one of great significance, and it was actually printed on a piece of paper he was holding before his eyes.

A letter he wrote on a whim after reading a newspaper article on adoption records had come through for him. His own records had finally been unsealed and his mother was now available to him, after all these years she was suddenly just a phone call away. She had made herself available, the letter claimed, in case he came looking for her. Her name was Sara Bent Horn, and according to the woman at the adoption agency his mother was a nationally acclaimed artist.

Eris was still reeling from the initial shock of finding he actually had a mother and hadn't hatched from some egg under a rock after all.

He didn't know what to think. Just looking at her name felt so strange to him, knowing he had come from her, had been born of this person whose name he had only just learned.

The chaos of his emotions sent him up the hill to Madeleine, whom he knew he had hurt and wanted only to make it better between them, because first he had been given her and now he had been given a mother and a name and a new point of reference and he didn't know what he had done to deserve any of it but he was suddenly deathly, terribly afraid of losing what he had gained so far.

His desperation was evident in his lovemaking and she held him tightly long after it was over, stroking his hair and kissing his face until his pounding heart finally began to slow and the anxiety in him lessened. She was waiting for him to tell her, he knew. But he couldn't. He couldn't put it into words because it meant too much to him still, and he didn't want to lose control of his emotions in front of her. She meant too much to him.

Madeleine needed someone strong, as strong if not stronger than she was, and Eris instinctively knew she would be disappointed to see him falter. He felt the same about her. It was her strength that made her so appealing, and he did not know how he would react should she suddenly turn into someone full of need.

They were alike in many other areas; he knew this from listening to her and watching her. She had read many of the books in his bedroom, and she went over the newspaper in the same manner as he did, reading every single story on the front page to completion before moving on to other sections. They liked the same foods and were unconcerned with matters of etiquette. They listened to the same music on the radio and watched some of the same programs on TV.

She didn't feel the need to talk just to fill up silence, and she didn't seem to mind silence from him. It pleased him just to be with her, and he knew she felt the same. They were, in fact, very much alike.

The areas in which they were not alike neither of them could do anything about.

He touched her face as she slept and thought of the things he wished he could say to her, how inadequate with words he felt, and how he wished he could think of some way to ask her to stay.

Suddenly her lids opened, and she looked up into his face. For the longest time she said nothing, only gazed at him. Then she whispered his name, and Eris pressed his lips against hers before she could speak further.

“Sleep.”

She closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him, and soon both slept.

He was sitting at the kitchen counter eating cantaloupe for breakfast when he realized he had forgotten to bring his beeper the night before. It was back in his bedroom with the belt he had neglected to put on. He left the stool and bent to kiss Madeleine, who was seated next to him. She smiled and touched his bare side with a hand while he leaned over her. He wore the same faded jeans and nothing else. His hair was still loose, falling down his back. He enjoyed the look in her eyes as she gazed at him
, it made him feel more than what he was. Much more.

He kissed her again and let himself out. At home he picked up the letter with his mother's number on it and tucked it into his wallet for safekeeping. He showered and was dressing when he turned on the radio and heard a local news report, including the story of a hit-and-run accident at
Diamond Bay, Green Lake Reservoir.

An hour later Eris was in the lake office listening to a lengthy phone lecture by his superior. He was never, never to leave his beeper behind him again, no matter what the circumstances. Excuses were for worthless nephews of worthless governors. Since Eris's record had been exemplary thus far, the incident would be overlooked, but it was not to happen again.

The man behind the desk smiled as Eris hung up and handed the phone back to him.

“Hope she was worth it.”

Eris surprised himself by returning the man's smile. Outside the office he met a yawning Dale Russell, who asked if he had called the boss yet.

“Just now,” said Eris. “You check on the girl this morning?”

“What? No, I just got in. I can do it now. I guess it should be me, since I was the one who handled everything last night.”

Eris ignored the dig and got in his truck. “After you find out her condition, radio me.”

“Why?” asked Russell.

“I want to know,” said Eris, and he started the engine of the truck.

“Where were you last night?” Russell asked loudly.

“Out.” Eris shifted into reverse and backed up. The look on Russell's face was the first hint ever given of how he felt about his fellow officer.

Eris's mouth twitched as he drove away. It's mutual.

He drove to
Diamond Bay and got out to look around. Blood still stained the location where Shelly's body was found, and he went back up the road on foot to see if he could find any skid marks or other evidence left by someone trying to come to a stop.

The road was clear.

It was possible the driver hadn't even seen her, he told himself. Maybe whoever it was thought it was a deer that had been struck and just kept going.

Or the driver, too, was drunk and swerved when he or she should have braked.

Eris regretted that he had forgotten his beeper, but there was nothing he could have done any differently than Russell. There was little to do but coordinate facts with the police. The conservation officers were there mostly as a courtesy, to lend a hand where they could. They knew the area and were familiar with the residents, and if such knowledge was useful it would be passed on in whatever way was helpful.

While Eris was standing in the road, Bill Bigelow came to talk to him. The man was obviously shaken by what had happened to his daughter
, his skin was gray, his eyes sunken. He shook his head a half-dozen times while looking at the pontoon boat and finally announced that he intended to sell the thing and get her away from the lake once and for all.

“The boat?” said Eris.

“Shelly,” said Bigelow. “She wasn't nearly so wild and crazy until we started coming out here. It was the crowd she fell in with, those wild kids who party every night and drink beer all day long. They don't even ski, or fish, they just come out here to get drunk and pass the hours.”

Bruce Beckworth, thought Eris. But Bigelow couldn't blame the kids entirely. He did a fair share of partying on the pontoon boat, pouring martinis and playing host to all sorts, many of them girls only a few years older than his daughter, and most of them fond of swimming nude at night.

“Have you contacted the hospital this morning?” asked Eris.

Bigelow nodded. “I just spoke to her mother. She's still critical, but the doctors are optimistic. Many bones broken, hip, leg, arm, collarbone, ribs, severe lacerations and abrasions, and the loss of a kidney, but thank God the internal bleeding has stopped.”

Eris nodded uncomfortably. He didn't like Shelly Bigelow, but he hated to see anyone suffer such a fate.

“She'll hang in there, I'm sure,” he said to her father. Then he excused himself and returned to his truck.

He stopped on the dam bridge to look and see who was down below, and while he was out walking around he saw Madeleine coming toward him in the old truck from her garage. He walked out to the road and she slowed to a halt beside him.

“I'm going shopping in Fayville,” she told him. “Any requests for dinner?”

“Shrimp?” said Eris.

She made a face and reached out as if to cuff him. He leaned away from her arm and gave her a smile that made her sigh. She looked at his mouth and said, “I love it when you do that.”

Eris leaned into the cab of the truck and kissed her. When he lifted his head he said, “I can cook tonight if you want.”

“No,” she said. “I like to cook for you.”

“Let me give you some money.”

“Only if you want steak. I was thinking more along the lines of meatloaf.”

“Meatloaf is fine, but I still want to give you some money.” He reached in his pocket and took out his wallet. When he opened the wallet, the folded letter from the adoption agency fell out. He bent to pick it up and saw her eyes following his hands. She blinked, but her lips went firmly shut. She would not allow herself to ask him, he saw. He handed her fifty dollars, and her eyes searched his as he replaced his wallet. He smiled again.

“Buy some ketchup for that meatloaf?”

”Oui, Monsieur Renard. Au revoir.”

He tipped his hat. “Mademoiselle.”

At any other time Eris Renard would have felt utterly stupid carrying on in such fashion while standing on the dam bridge in plain view of half a dozen fishermen and various others. He didn't feel stupid with Madeleine. He felt good. His chest expanded as he watched her drive away from him.

It was incredible how she made him feel about himself. He would never get over the way she carried on about his smile. Or his eyes. She nearly had Eris believing he was handsome.

He felt handsome when she looked at him, when her eyes lingered and her hands couldn't stay away from his face.

He was beginning to see what she saw in the mirror, instead of what countless others had seen and shied away from. The scars were somehow less noticeable and his eyes looked different to him, warmer, browner, less hard. He saw his teeth more often, and he paid more attention to his hair because of her. He thought he would probably gain a few pounds, but a regular meal or two wouldn't hurt him. He found he actually preferred sitting down to eat.

After driving down below the dam to check licenses and chat with the fishermen, Eris went home and took out his wallet. Before he could lose momentum he punched in the number and held his breath. He listened to four rings, and then a woman's voice answered. “Hello?”

Eris opened his mouth and nothing came out. He cleared his throat and struggled, finally pushing a weak hello past his lips.

“Who is this?” asked the woman.

“My name is Eris Renard,” he managed. “I'm calling to speak with Sara Bent Horn.”

“My God,” she said softly. “Your voice is so deep.”

“Is this Sara Bent Horn?”

“It is. Is this my son Eris?”

“According to the adoption agency I am.”

“Where are you?”

He cleared his throat again. “I work for the Kansas Department of Wildlife and Parks at Green Lake Reservoir.”

“You're a game warden?”

”A conservation officer.”

“Are you married? Do you have any children?”

“No.” He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. Talking with his mother. It was unreal.

“When I turned forty last year I knew I had to find you,” she said, and he was stunned into silence.

Forty last year? She was only forty-one now?

”I…how old were you when…?” he asked.

“When I had you? I was fourteen. I don't want to talk about any of this over the phone to you. I have to see you. Please don't say no, I've been waiting for this moment for so long.”

No longer than I have, thought Eris.

“I can't get away,” he told her. “I'm responsible for—”

“I'll come to you,” she interrupted. “Just tell me the nearest major airport and I'll book a flight.”

“Where are you?” asked Eris, picking up the phone number to look at the area code.

“Santa Fe, New Mexico,” she said. “I'm an artist. I have my own studio and gallery here. Are you anywhere near Wichita?”

”A little over an hour away,” he told her. “There's nowhere to stay around here. No motels or—”

“Would it be all right if I stayed with you?” she asked. “Do you have room?”

He did, but she was suddenly going too fast for him. He wanted to see her, yes, but he didn't know if he wanted to have her in his house. She was, after all, a stranger.

“You can stay with me,” he heard himself say.

“Wonderful,” she said, and he heard a break in her voice. “You don't know how happy you've made me. I can't wait to see you. I'm going to take the first available flight out, is that all right?”