“Saw him,” Manydeeds said.
“Saw who?”
“Son of a bitch brought that dog’s head in.”
“Who was it?”
“Couldn’t tell. All hunched up in a parka. Not a big guy, though. I mean tall. But he looked big up here,” he said, indicating his chest. “Like he lifted weights or something.”
“Shinnob?”
“Didn’t see his face.”
“When?”
Manydeeds took another long draw of beer, and Cork felt obliged to sip from his own.
“Night before last. Two a.m., maybe.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Manydeeds gave another brief nod, this one toward his lower back. “Painkillers don’t do nuthin. I was up readin, right here in this chair.” There was a National Geographic lying on a little end table next to the recliner. “Heard the front door scrape open. Got up, peeked out, saw him creepin down the hallway. Figured it was just Ray Jay let outta jail early, so I went back to my readin. Couple of minutes later, heard the front door scrape again. Looked out through my curtains. No moon, and the streetlight don’t work, so I couldn’t hardly see nuthin, but I could make out that he was gettin into a pickup. Knew it wasn’t Ray Jay then. He don’t drive, not since he lost his license with all them DWIs.”
“A pickup? Catch the color?”
Manydeeds sipped and shook his head. “Lucky I could see the truck at all. Watched it pull away. Didn’t think much more about it until the ruckus today.”
“You tell this to Azevedo?”
“Azevedo?”
“The deputy who interviewed you earlier.”
“What is he? Mexican?”
“It’s a Portuguese name.”
“I told him nothing. Figured I’d tell you. Don’t like your beer?”
Cork realized he’d taken only a couple of swallows, and he remedied that. “Anybody you know of got a grudge against Ray Jay?” he asked.
Manydeeds reclined his chair, set his beer can on the table, and laced his fingers over his belly. He winced at the pain all this caused him. “That man’s been sober going on two years now. Keeps to himself, quiet, good neighbor. Except that dog of his sometimes barked a blue streak. Guess he won’t be doin that no more.” His copper eyes stared at Cork, who couldn’t tell exactly how Manydeeds felt about that particular circumstance.
Cork took a long swig from his beer can, almost finishing the contents. “Anything else worth knowing?”
“No,” Manydeeds said. “But I got a piece of advice for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Watch yourself with Stella Daychild.” Manydeeds picked up his beer, finished it, and with his great paw of a hand, crushed the can. “Heard you slept over at her place last night.” When Cork didn’t deny it, Manydeeds said, “Holding a lit firecracker in your hand, O’Connor.”
“Meaning?”
“Packaged real pretty, that one, but dangerous.”
Cork picked up his coat from the floor and stood. He put his nearly empty beer can on the end table atop the National Geographic. “Migwech, Carson. Appreciate your help.”
Manydeeds gave a nod and watched without further comment as Cork left the apartment.
Back at Wakemup’s, the women were drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and talking quietly. When Cork came into the living room, they ceased their conversations and looked up at him.
“I’m taking off, Stella. You and Marlee want a ride back to your place?”
“Thanks.” Stella got up and helped Marlee stand.
Patty LeBeau, one of the women in attendance, said, “Don’t worry about the place, Stella. We’ll get it ready for Ray Jay.”
Cork walked with the Daychilds out to the Forester, and they headed away from Allouette, back to the isolated house on Iron Lake. Cork waited near the front steps while Stella got her daughter inside. She came out a few minutes later, without her coat. She crossed her arms and stood with Cork in the bitter cold. It was late afternoon, and the sun lay low in the sky, and Stella was bathed in a soft yellow glow.
“Will Shorty show up tonight?” Cork asked.
Stella gave her shoulders a shrug. “Probably don’t need him. Whoever’s got it in for Ray Jay took it out on Dexter.”
“If that’s true, why did they go after Marlee?” Cork asked. “Until we know for sure what’s going on, I think it’s a good idea for you not to be here alone at night.”
She was shivering now, and Cork’s instinct was to draw her close and warm her.
“I’d be willing to come back and stay,” he offered.
She looked toward the low sun, and there was a little flame reflected in her dark eyes. “Folks on the rez are already talking.”
“Talk’s never bothered me much.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Me neither. The truth is that I’d feel a lot safer with you here.”
“I’ll be back before dark,” he promised. “In the meantime, keep your door locked, okay?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she drew her arms from across her chest, reached out, took his face gently in her hands, which were frigid, leaned to him, and kissed his cheek. “You really are unbelievable, you know that?”
Cork said, “Better get inside before you freeze.”
She turned and mounted the steps. Before she disappeared inside, she gave him one long, last, enigmatic look.
Cork walked back to the Forester and paused with his gloved hand on the door handle. He stared at his shadow, which lay across the snow next to the vehicle like a supine man quite comfortable on that icy white mattress. He knew it was a good idea for someone to stay with the Daychilds that night. He knew Shorty was unreliable in that regard. He knew that if he didn’t stay and something were to happen, he’d blame himself. But he also knew that, deep down, Stella’s safety was only part of the reason he would be coming back. The rest of it had to do with how he felt when her cold hands cupped his face and her warm lips pressed his cheek. It had to do with a moment the night before, which he’d chosen to let pass but couldn’t help hoping might come again. Maybe Stella was, as Carson Manydeeds had observed, something dangerous in a very pretty package. Against his better judgment, Cork found himself wanting very much to unwrap that package and find out for himself.
CHAPTER 23
When Cork parked Jenny’s Forester in the driveway and saw that the Land Rover and Bearcat were still gone, a worm of concern began to crawl through his belly. Why hadn’t Stephen returned yet? He hurried into the house through the side door to the kitchen and was relieved to find his son sitting at the table. Waaboo was on the floor surrounded by pots and pans, having a great time trying to fit lids on them and making a hell of a racket while doing so. Stephen looked up glumly when his father entered and said nothing.