Templeton nodded with approval. “That’s for the best.”
Joe said, “If I catch him fishing again with too many big fish or without a license, I’ll ticket him for sure. The same with your other guests, so you might want to let them know what the rules and regulations are.”
Latta moaned.
Templeton turned to Joe. He said, “I hope you’ll give that some real thought. My colleague, well, you don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“I got that message loud and clear,” Joe said. “Do you have other guests I should look out for, so I don’t ruin their day?”
Templeton smiled as if he were wise to the game that was afoot. “Other guests?”
“You know,” Joe said, “other colleagues of yours who might be out and about without paying any attention to Game and Fish regulations. Fishing without a license, for instance, or shooting pheasants out of season. Falconry without a permit — things like that.”
There was a tiny twitch at the corners of Templeton’s mouth at the word falconry, Joe noted.
“Why do you ask?” the rancher said.
“Joe, we’ve got to go,” Latta said.
Templeton said, “Yes, I’ve got to get back to inspecting my hayfields. If we don’t have rain, I can start baling that cut hay tomorrow. It’s the last cutting of the year, you know.”
Latta thanked Templeton profusely for his time as well as for agreeing to the trial walk-in area, and grasped Joe’s arm to pull him along.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Joe said to Templeton.
“Likewise,” Templeton said, coolly looking Joe over as if for the first time.
His demeanor remained serious when he told Latta, “Don’t contact Mr. Williams until tomorrow about your project. He’s busy tonight organizing a welcome reception and dinner for my very special guest.”
“Okay, Mr. Templeton,” Latta said.
To Joe, Templeton asked, “I hope the accommodations and the Whispering Pines Motel are okay for you.”
Joe nodded. Of course he knew. But how much?
“What in the hell was that all about with his guests?” Latta shouted when they climbed back into the cab of his pickup. “What did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut and letting me do all the talking?”
“You did plenty of that.”
Latta thumped the steering wheel hard with the heel of his hand. “He’s talking to you all neighborly-like, and all of a sudden you start bringing up his guests and grilling him on his own land.”
“Grilling is a strong word,” Joe said.
“And what was that about someone doing falconry? I oversee the falconry permits around here, and no one has applied. What was that all about?”
Joe shrugged. “Just popped into my head.”
“Jesus Christ,” Latta said with disgust.
“Who is this special woman he’s importing?” Joe asked.
“I have no idea,” Latta said. “Why do you think I would know or care? That’s not my business, and it sure as hell isn’t yours.”
“She must be something,” Joe said.
“It doesn’t matter!” Latta thundered. “It’s his personal life. There have been plenty of females in the past. There is this black one — sorry, African American — from down south who is an absolute friggin’ knockout. I don’t know if she’s still there or not. I don’t care about any of them, and neither should you.”
“He brought it up.”
“He was just talking. Trying to be nice. And you screw it all up.”
“Maybe I don’t want him to get his hooks into me the way he’s got them into you and everybody else around here,” Joe said.
Before Latta could respond, Joe said, “Tell me what’s going on around here. You like to talk, so talk. Tell me what it is they have on you, and why there’s a group of people in this district that are above the law. Tell me what they’ve asked you about me, and what you told them.”
“I can’t,” Latta said with heat.
“Then we’re done. Take me back to my truck.”
“You’re goddamned right we’re done,” Latta said. “I can’t protect you anymore. You just do whatever the hell you want in my district.”
“I don’t want or need protection,” Joe said. “What kind of place is this that you even talk that way? Why is it that everyone here knows me and knows my business?”
“I already told you,” Latta said, doing a jerky three-point turn on the gravel road so he could aim his pickup back the way they came. “It’s a different world here. It’s obvious you don’t belong.”
Joe said, “For once, I agree with you.”
They rode along in silence for a few minutes, each consumed with his own angry thoughts. Joe put off calling Marybeth until he could be clear of Latta. He didn’t want the game warden knowing anything about anything.
When they reached the state highway, Latta said, “If I were you, I’d pack up your dog and your stuff and head home tonight. Forget about helping me with the walk-in area. I can handle that on my own.”
“Still protecting me?” Joe asked. “From who? From what?”
“Hell,” Latta said, “I’m protecting myself, too. I’ve got Emily to think about.”
His tone had softened into uneasiness and anguish, Joe thought. He felt sorry for him.
“We’re done,” Joe said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m leaving right away. But whatever I do, it won’t involve you.”
“It better not,” Latta said, inhaling a long and trembling breath.
When they approached Medicine Wheel, Latta said, “You aren’t going to write up a report on all this, are you?”
Joe didn’t respond.
“Tell me this will be between us. Just a misunderstanding between a couple of fellow game wardens. I don’t know our new director at all, and I don’t want her getting the wrong impression.”
Joe said, “I’m not planning to send in a report to her.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Don’t,” Latta said. “Because it’s one thing if we’re through and I’m off to the side. It’s another thing if you make me your enemy, too.”
Joe looked over at Latta. There was a mixture of fear and determination in his eyes. And there was nothing worse than that.
Latta dropped off Joe without a word of good-bye in the parking area of the Whispering Pines Motel and roared away. Joe’s pickup was the sole vehicle in the lot, and he assumed he was still the only guest. As soon as Latta’s rear bumper strobed away through the trees on the side of the road and vanished, Joe called Marybeth.
“What did you find out about Erik Young?” he asked.
“He doesn’t have any priors I could find, although I can’t access juvie records. But I think I located his mother.”
The clouds had scudded off to South Dakota and the noon sun was straight overhead, warming the asphalt. Joe leaned against the grille of his truck.
Marybeth told Joe in detail about her experience that morning. She said, “If someone cold-called me and asked, ‘Are you Sheridan Pickett’s mother?’ or ‘Are you Lucy Pickett’s mother?’ the first thought that would probably come into my mind is car wreck. Or some kind of horrible accident.”
“Really?” Joe asked.
“Really. That’s how a mother’s mind works.”
“Gotcha.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But if a stranger called out of the blue and asked, ‘Are you April Keeley’s mother?’ well, a bunch of other scenarios would immediately come to mind. I’d probably picture her in a jail cell or in the back of a squad car or something. I hate to admit this, but it’s true.”
Joe nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t come to any of those conclusions without hearing more.
Marybeth said, “So for Mrs. Young to blurt out, ‘I knew this call would come someday. My God, what has he done?’ scares me, Joe. This woman knows Erik is capable of something awful. Trust me — a mother just knows. It convinces me Sheridan is on to something.”