Madeleine was blinking impatiently. “But then what?”
“Ah. Well. Then. Five years later, a fellow fishing for bullheads snagged his line on what remained of the long-missing body—mostly a skeleton, with some of her clothes still on it. Thing of it is, he was fishing here on Wolf Lake, not on the lake where the girl drowned.”
Gurney looked skeptical. “Is there some solid evidence beyond that for the underground connections?”
“Yes. Repeated simultaneous measurements of both lake surfaces show that they always rise and fall precisely in unison, even when a heavy rain storm only impacts one of them directly. So there’s no doubt about the existence of the connection, although it’s never been adequately explored or mapped.” He took another sip from his glass and smiled. “Situations like that can take hold of the ignorant imagination, ever ready to concoct outrageous explanations, especially ones involving evil forces.”
Although Gurney couldn’t disagree, he found Landon’s manner irritating. He decided to change the subject. “You seem able to come and go as you please. Either you’re retired or you have a pretty flexible job.”
“I’m mostly retired. Bit of consulting here and there. Love being out and about. Love the wilderness. Living the outdoorsman’s dream. Time passes, you know. Only live once. You know the old saying: No one on his deathbed ever wishes he’d spent more time in the office. How about you, Dave? Jane tells me that you’re partly retired, partly not.”
Gurney still found it difficult to describe his status. Madeleine would often comment that the term ‘retired’ hardly fit a man who’d immersed himself in four major murder cases since his official departure from the job.
“I’m occasionally asked for my opinion of a situation,” said Gurney. “And occasionally that leads to some deeper involvements.”
Landon smiled, perhaps at the intentional vagueness. “My own feeling regarding careers, particularly ones involving risk, is that there’s a time to walk away. Let others do their jobs, grow into their responsibilities. Be a tragedy for a man to lose his life for no reason beyond the desire to keep risking it.”
“There could be other reasons for not walking away.”
“Ah. Well. Then it becomes more complicated.” He studied his drink. “Ego, pride, who we believe we are, satisfactions that give meaning to our lives . . .” His voice trailed off.
After a silence Gurney asked casually, “What sort of consulting work do you do?”
“I advise clients on international business matters. Legal and cultural issues, security concerns. Much rather be in the woods.” He turned toward Madeleine. “What about you? You an outdoor sort of woman? I bet you are.”
The question appeared to jar her out of a different train of thought. “I do enjoy being outdoors. If I can’t get outside, I start to feel—”
Before she could finish, Jane Hammond walked in from the reception area, radiating a mixture of relief and anxiety. Her short, badly dyed hair was sticking out at odd angles. “Dave! Madeleine! You made it! I was afraid with the horrible weather . . . but here you are! So good to see you!” Her voice was hoarse.
“Norris came to our rescue,” said Madeleine.
“Rescue? My God! What happened?”
Madeleine glanced over at Gurney.
He shrugged. “Difficult spot on the road, bad maneuver on my part, a slippery ditch . . .”
“Oh no! I was afraid of something like that happening—which is why I asked Norris to check the road. I’m so glad now that I did.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“We did have a scary encounter,” added Madeleine.
Jane’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“A strange man came out of the woods.”
“Tarr,” said Landon.
“Oh. Barlow. He can be scary. Did he say anything . . . threatening?”
“He said something about the evil here at Wolf Lake.”
“My God!” Jane looked at Landon, her face a caricature of distress.
“Ah. Well. There’s the Tarr family history. Not pretty. Ending up in the local madhouse was a Tarr tradition.”
Madeleine’s eyes widened. “When you say ‘local madhouse,’ what exactly—”
Landon answered before she finished. “State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Not far from here. But not the sort of local attraction the lodge would advertise. When people know about it, it has a way of preying on their minds. You ever heard an Adirondack loon? Even when you know it’s just a bird you’re hearing, that mournful cry can still give you chills. And if you start thinking that what you’re hearing might really be the wailing of a madman wandering in the woods, well . . . that’s not conducive to easy sleeping.”
Jane stared at him for a moment, then turned to Gurney and Madeleine, who were occupying the end seats on the couch. “I told Richard I invited you for dinner. He wasn’t totally thrilled, but he didn’t suddenly announce he had to be somewhere else. So we’re past the first hurdle. I thought that dinner would be—”
A single, soft musical note, very close by, stopped her in mid-sentence.
Landon shifted in his chair, took a cell phone from his pocket, and peered down at the screen. “Sorry,” he said, rising to his feet. Putting the phone to his ear, he left the room.
Jane picked up where she left off. “I thought that dinner would be a natural, relaxed way for you get a feeling for the situation . . . and get to know Richard . . . so you can see for yourself how crazy, how completely crazy, it is for anyone to imagine that he . . .” She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.
Gurney tended to greet displays of emotion with skepticism, watching for the overly dramatic gesture, listening for the false note. But he concluded that if Jane Hammond was faking her concern for her brother, she was damn good at it.
“So you changed your mind about how to handle this? I thought the idea was that I’d just show up unannounced, and your brother would feel compelled to see me because I’d traveled all this way just to talk to him.”
“Yes, but then I thought dinner would be even better—more casual, especially with Madeleine present, a good way for you to get to know who Richard really is.”
“He had no objection to that?”
Jane dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “Well . . . I did tell him a small fib.”
“How small?”
She took a step closer to the couch and leaned forward in a conspiratorial attitude. “I told him that I’d asked for your help but that you had major reservations about the case, and that you were reluctant to get involved. Since Richard doesn’t want you—or anyone else—involved, then naturally he’d be more relaxed with you if he thought you were backing away.”
“Then why would I be here now?”
“I told him that you and your wife would be passing through the Adirondacks within a few miles of Wolf Lake on your way to a Vermont ski vacation, and I invited you to stop and have dinner with us.”
“So your brother will be happy to have me in his house as long as I’m not interested in the case?”
“As long as you’re not involved in the case. Some degree of interest would be normal, right?”
“These major reservations I’m supposed to have about getting involved—did he ask you what they were?”
“I said I didn’t know. If he asks you, you can just make something up.”
This woman wasn’t just a caretaker and a fixer, thought Gurney. This was someone with an appetite for manipulation. An arranger of other people’s lives who saw herself as a selfless helper.
His natural curiosity about the case was starting to be outweighed by these awkward twists in the process of his involvement. Reluctantly, however, he accepted the new plan—telling himself there would be exit doors if he later changed his mind.