Buried in Wolf Lake Read online

  Nick smiled a little sheepishly. “Senior year. The girl I stood behind in choir said I should try out for Fiddler. And, since she was also my girlfriend, I decided to give it a whirl. Only musical, only play, I was ever in.”

  “Seriously?

  “Yup, and eventually I got the girl. It was Jenny,” he added softly.

  I moved my arm to his waist and squeezed. “You never told me Jenny was your high school sweetheart.”

  He picked at some strands of my hair. “The short version is, we dated my senior year, her junior year. I left for college, she went back to her old boyfriend. We met again when Jenny came to the same college. She was single again, and we picked up where we’d left off two years before.”

  “True love found a way.”

  “Isn’t that a song?” He bent his head and touched his nose to mine.

  Musicals had a way of transporting me, uplifting me, and making me miss the days I had sung and danced in a few when I was in the high school drama club. Entertainment allowed people to leave their workaday world for a couple of hours and get lost in make-believe. In my line of work, that was a welcome godsend. Oak Lea had an active community theater, and if my schedule would permit it, I had considered getting active behind the scenes, if not onstage.

  We shuffled out of the theater with hundreds of others. Hennepin Avenue spilled over with people: theatergoers, panhandlers, street people with their life possessions in backpacks, others playing instruments on the sidewalk to make a few dollars. As we walked to the parking garage, I scanned the nooks and crannies of the buildings and alleyways, picking out the drug dealers and the hookers.

  “Hey. What are you looking for?” Nick asked, giving my shoulder a little shake.

  “Ah, sorry . . . habit.” I reached for his upper arm. “See that red Saturn? Just pulled over to the curb? And that guy, see that Latino guy? He just pulled something out of his mouth and they did a quick exchange. Crack for cash.”

  “You should be a police officer.”

  I smiled and shook my head.

  A young black woman walked over to a black Grand Prix. She leaned in the window for a minute and then got in. I wanted to call to her. Stop her. Magically change her life.

  I scanned all the blonde women of average height on the street. Were they ladies of the night and potential victims of a crazed killer? I shuddered, feeling, believing, we were all being watched by what—I couldn’t make myself think of the killer as a whom—the FBI called the UNSUB. With hundreds of cars cruising by, and as many people walking on any given night, where would they find him? Especially when half of the cars seemed to be four-door tan sedans.

  “Corky?” Nick’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “What?”

  His brows furrowed in concern. “You stopped walking, and I’m trying to steer you to the right. We’re here.”

  “Oh.”

  Nick grabbed my hand, and we maneuvered our way through the parking garage, dodging departing vehicles. We found my GTO on B-Level.

  “Thanks for letting me drive this beauty. One of the highlights of the night.” Nick brushed an imaginary piece of dust from the hood.

  “You are very welcome. It needs to get out on the highway more often—too much around-town driving. I was only mildly worried it would get keyed or schmucked.”

  “You’re braver than I’d be.”

  On the way home we speculated about the personal lives of professional actors, some issues Nick faced at the hospital, and a little about the dismembered Molly. Molly. Her case had me in its grips and followed me, haunted me, wherever I went, whatever I did.

  Nick pulled into his driveway. We piled out and met by the front of the car. “Come in for a while, or as long as you like. It’s not often Faith is at an overnight.” He drew me to his muscled chest.

  I put my hands on his face. “You’re leaving early tomorrow, and I don’t want to be the one responsible for putting a less-than-alert driver on the road, especially when you’ve got your precious daughter along.”

  He pulled me tighter. “I know you’re right, but when I’m with you I want to keep you as long as possible.” His kisses were coaxing, possessive, delicious, and tempting.

  “Thank you, Nick, for the best time ever. And have a great time with the grandparents. Tell Faith I send my love.”

  “Will do. See you when I get back?” He picked up my hand and kissed it.

  “I’ll be back to work Sunday afternoon.”

  “Ever notice how our schedules get in the way of our romance?”

  23: Langley

  The last person Langley expected to see that night was the Eve-cop. He couldn’t keep her out of his dreams. And she was on the arm of some john. A fickle concubine, no less. He stared at her for a long time before he was positive it was the Eve-cop. She looked different with her hair down, falling around her shoulders; tempting men in her little short black dress. Since she’d given him the ticket for the headlight, she’d been in his mind day and night. He knew he would find her again when the time was right—he just figured it would have to be on her home turf, not his.

  Maybe it was her home turf, after all. Maybe she worked for Winnebago County but lived in Minneapolis. Feasible. It wasn’t far, maybe thirty-five miles to Oak Lea, the county seat. His grandparents had taken him shopping there a number of times over the years. Grandfather hauled his soybeans to the grain elevator in Oak Lea because they paid better than the one that was closer, the one in Little Mountain.

  Langley pulled over to the curb and watched the concubine, the Eve-cop. She was like all the others, only worse. She put on a uniform and carried a gun to lord it over men on the one hand, then wore a sexy outfit as a different kind of power tool. Yes, the worst kind of Eve. He could imagine the way her neck would feel in his hands, her happy smile gone forever when he gained ultimate control over her.

  Eve-cop and her john walked into a parking garage and drove out in a vintage car. She was still smiling. There was just no teaching some concubines. He had tried to warn her by sending her the message. He should have known she wouldn’t understand how Judges nineteen applied to her, as well as all the other Eves.

  He had the name she went by on his fix-it ticket and would track her down. The online tracking services were reasonable enough and worth every penny.

  24

  Instead of turning onto my road, I continued on to Smoke’s. It was late, but I needed to talk to someone—someone who understood my obsession with finding Molly’s killer. I pulled into his driveway. The lights were still on. His dog Rex yelped his “Oh, it’s you, Corky” bark. I dialed Smoke’s number.

  “I’m decent.” His voice held a mild slur.

  I bent over to scratch under the dog’s collar. “Hey, Rex. Good boy.”

  Smoke was sitting at his kitchen table holding a guitar in his lap. There were numerous empty beer bottles sitting in front of him. “Smoke?”

  “You’re looking mighty fine.” He visually examined me up and down. Twice.

  I studied his lazy eyes and relaxed smile. “Are you drunk?”

  “Pretty close.” It was out of character and concerned me.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s the one day a year I set aside to feel sorry for myself. The day I finally called it quits with Mona.”

  “I see.”

  Smoke was in love with Mona and wanted to marry her, but she wouldn’t commit. After some years, he’d given up, left his position in Lake County, and moved back to Oak Lea.

  “My brothers came over to help me—I don’t know what —celebrate or mourn. A little bit of both.” He strummed a chord on his guitar.

  “So, you didn’t drink all this beer by yourself?” I started to pick up bottles, counting and calculating alcohol intake.

  “Leave ’em.” He struck another chord. “What are you doing here so late? One of my brothers call you, worried about me?”

  I sank down on a chair to his right. “No. Neither of your brothers has e
ver called me. Should they be worried about you?”

  Two quick-strummed chords. “No.”

  I watched his long fingers on the guitar. “Good. You know what? It’s nothing pressing—we can talk about it later.” I started to get up.

  “Tell me.” Smoke rested his crossed hands on the body of the instrument.

  I sat back down, slid a bottle over, and leaned my elbow onto the table. “It’s the Molly case. It won’t leave me alone. I just got back from Minneapolis—you know, my date with Nick—and I can’t help thinking there’s gotta be a way to set a trap for the killer.”

  Smoke raised his right shoulder a little. “That’s up to Minneapolis. Could involve a whole lot of man hours.”

  “And well worth every minute to catch that animal and save a life, or who knows how many lives.” I let my arm drop on the table, and my fist bounced a few times.

  “No argument here. But it’d be nice to have some sort of physical description, other than a general age range and that he’s probably got a good job.”

  “True, but if we see a guy in the twenty-five to thirty-five age range, in a tan car, picking up a blonde, average-height prostitute, we could tail him and see where they go. I mean, isn’t it a no-no to go to a john’s house?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “So if he takes her to a private residence, we move in.”

  Smoke raised his eyebrows. “Corky, you know it doesn’t work like that. We’d need a court order to do a search, and no judge would grant one under those circumstances. Not enough probable cause.”

  “I know. I mean, ring the doorbell, see if he answers the door. If he doesn’t, watch to see if he takes the prostitute back. If not, watch the house to see if he leaves without her.” I picked up a paper towel from the table and dabbed at a wet spot.

  “Two of the things I admire most about you are your dedication and your optimism.” His hand captured mine and held it. “If I was in charge of the investigation at the Minneapolis PD, I would assign you the detail. And I will talk to Olansky, see if they have any kind of a sting set up. My thinking? An undercover cop would be the better approach. Damn dangerous though, and I wouldn’t want you involved with that.”

  His hand slid up and squeezed my elbow. “Hey, forgot my manners—grab yourself a brew. You can help me with one last toast.”

  “And you’re working on your last drink?” I dropped the towel and went to search the refrigerator.

  “Yup.”

  We clinked the necks of our beer bottles. “Here’s to . . . you think of something,” Smoke said.

  “Okay. Um. Here’s to having someone to share your deepest concerns with.” I smiled at my trusted friend.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Smoke downed the rest of his drink while I nursed mine.

  “I gotta get rid of some beer.” He set his guitar against the wall and left the room. At least he didn’t stagger. Much.

  I couldn’t resist taking a load of bottles to the recycle bin by the back door. Rex followed me, as usual. He fetched a ball from somewhere and dropped it at my feet. I threw it to the other side of the kitchen, then headed the same direction. Rex picked it up and started his mad dash back toward me the same time Smoke returned. Rex knocked against Smoke and Smoke stumbled into me. He clutched my shoulders to steady himself, and prevented me from falling.

  When he didn’t let go, I looked up. A red flush had crept over his neck and face, and the slight smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth dissolved as his eyes searched my face.

  “The way you look in that dress is driving me insane.” His cheek brushed mine as his hands ran down my arms. “Ahhh, you smell almost as good as you look. If I wasn’t half-drunk, I’d be tempted to kiss you.”

  “Smoke—”

  “I wouldn’t want you to think it was the beer.”

  Our lips were almost touching and I knew I should move away, but I couldn’t. What was wrong with me?

  Did you forget you were in Nick‘s arms, accepting his kisses an hour ago? I chided myself.

  “Smoke?” I whispered.

  “Ah, hell.” Smoke’s lips claimed mine, and his hands massaged my back, urging my body so close it felt like his heart was beating in my chest. His kisses were exquisite, artful. I thought I must be dreaming. He gently nibbled around my lips, and then followed with his tongue. When his open mouth came back on mine, I was barely aware my hands had moved to the back of his head, bringing him closer still, imploring him to deepen the kiss.

  Smoke guided me backward, his lips on mine in kiss after kiss. We stopped, and he tucked an arm under my thighs and lifted me onto the couch in his family room, then stretched out beside me. One arm was under me, and he laid the other across my chest.

  He raised his hand to play with my hair and face then nibbled here and there on my neck. I brought him in for another kiss, then did some nibbling of my own—his earlobe, his neck, and his chin, while his hand explored my body.

  Suddenly, abruptly, Smoke rolled away and onto the floor. He pushed himself to a standing position and dropped his head into his hands. Losing his body heat gave me an immediate chill, but it took me a few seconds to sit up and get enough breath to ask, “Smoke, what is it?”

  He reached down for my hand, pulled me up, and tenderly drew me into a hug. “Corky, we can’t do this. Thank God I’m sobering up.” An icy sensation ran through the veins of my body.

  At that moment, I didn’t care about anything except how much I wanted to be with him. I finally choked out, “Why not, why can’t we?”

  “A whole lotta reasons, not the least of which I’m almost twenty years older than you. We work together. Your father was my best friend. Your mother would kill me.”

  Smoke’s words were cold water thrown in my face. My skin prickled and goosebumps rose on my flesh. I started to pull away, but he held fast. He hooked his finger under my chin and lured my eyes to his. There were unshed tears brimming on his lower lids.

  Tears in Smoke’s eyes.

  The tears that had been building in my own spilled onto my cheeks. Smoke tenderly brushed them away with his thumbs.

  “Corinne, you are the most beautiful, captivating woman I know. My humble apologies for taking advantage tonight. Selfish desires got the better of me.”

  My anger and deep disappointment dissipated when he uttered “the most beautiful, captivating woman I know.” I put my finger on his lips and shook my head. There were things I wanted to say, but couldn’t. Not then. I eased out of his arms and made my way to the back door, escorted by Rex. I slipped out and drove home, struggling to see the road through the opaque veil of my tear-filled eyes.

  Smoke phoned at nine the next morning, first my cell phone, then my landline. I let both calls go to voicemail. A few minutes later, Nick called. I let him go to voicemail as well. How could I tell Nick I had gone to see Smoke after our date? Yes, it was for a professional reason, but it had gotten personal pretty quickly.

  I lay in bed watching the ceiling fan swirl around like my emotions and reasoning, going round in circles, not getting anywhere. Would I ever be able to sort it all out?

  Nick was the first man I had ever been serious about, romantically. He believed I was afraid of commitment, afraid I would love and lose, the way my mother had when my father died at such a young age. Before he told me that, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I had assured myself I’d never found the right man to date.

  Nick was carrying some heavy baggage of his own. He was widowed, with the responsibilities of raising a young daughter. His demanding career as a hospital administrator had him scrambling to make time for Faith, and for me. I loved Faith and knew I could help Nick fill in the time gaps when he was away, but could I be a good mother? A mother who didn’t hover and over-protect to the point of suffocation at times?

  Nick was intelligent, dedicated to his career, devoted to his daughter, and fun to be with—not to mention gorgeous. I felt like a celebrity on his arm, whether I lik
ed that kind of attention or not.

  Then there was Smoke. He had a whole room full of baggage. Or so he thought. After a long-term affair that was difficult for him to leave, he had moved back to Oak Lea to lick his wounds and build brick walls around his heart. He was interested in my mother until they had a date and discovered the spark they hoped for wasn’t there after all. It was misdirected. I had to believe after our encounter the previous night, it was me he loved and wanted.

  Could life be more complicated? It was no wonder I had shunned love most of my adult life. There were very good reasons to want to avoid all the problems it stirred up.

  I threw the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. My friend Sara liked to sleep in on Saturdays, and it was a little early to call her. That left taking a run to alleviate stress and clear out some cobwebs. I pulled on sweatpants, a shirt, running shoes, and a hooded jacket. The autumn mornings had been cool lately.

  Smoke was sitting in his SUV in my driveway. He got out wearing casual clothes and a worried expression.

  “I knew you’d come out for a run eventually.”

  “You know me too well.” I pushed past him, dodging his arm when he reached out to me.

  “Corky—Corinne—we need to talk.” Smoke followed me down the driveway. “Will you stop for a minute?”

  “No.” I walked a little faster until I reached the road and started jogging.

  “Are you going to make me run?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Ah, hell. I don’t know if I can run and talk.”

  “You don’t have to do either.”

  For a few minutes, the only sounds were our feet hitting the gravel road and Smoke’s noisy breathing. “Can you slow down a little? Do you have to go so fast?”

  My pace was faster than usual, so I pulled it back, not enough so Smoke would be able to talk, but enough to help prevent him from having a heart attack.

  After a mile of running in silence, Smoke passed me, then stopped and pivoted to block me. We almost toppled over into the ditch.