Part 8 (2/2)

Hilde's marriage had been a good one, Geneva said. Her husband had adored her. But when she was diagnosed with diabetes, she swore she would never have children, risk cursing them with that gene. ”For several years that seemed to work, but he really wanted a family, and eventually they separated. She wished him well.”

”The last time I saw her,” Frank said when it appeared that Geneva might break into tears again, ”she said she still planned to retire in two years and do some traveling. Did she talk much about where she wanted to go?”

”France,” Geneva said. ”Especially Provence. And England, the Oxford area. But over Christmas, when I asked her if she had made any real travel plans yet, she blushed a little and said sometimes plans change. I think she might have met a man she was interested in. She wouldn't say another word.”

Her brother was frowning. ”Women,” he said to Frank. ”That's all they think of. Getting each other married off. Hilde was perfectly contented with her life.”

Geneva shook her head. ”Several years ago, on a Friday night, she showed up. I was really surprised because she hadn't called or anything. She said her house was full of silence and emptiness. I think she was very lonely, until recently anyway.”

It rained overnight. When Frank gazed out the kitchen door Sat.u.r.day morning, he knew he would not work in the garden that day. He decided to take a run out to Opal Creek. He had thought a lot about what Barbara said and his own speculation that perhaps Hilde had seen something or someone she should not have seen. He wanted to look for himself.

He drove past the Marchand orchard slowly, admiring the care that had been taken with the trees and land. Across the road the Bakken orchard was neat, too, but not as meticulous, and without the ground cover. He slowed even more at the Marchand driveway. Then the piece of forest between the two properties. He came to Minick's driveway, which vanished behind trees very soon. Driving on, he pa.s.sed the small marker surrounded by flowers, pa.s.sed the school, and continued to The Station, where he stopped.

There were four men at a table inside; they became silent when he entered.

”Morning,” he said as one of the men rose and walked around a counter.

”Help you?” the man said.

”Hope so. You have red wrigglers?”

”Yep.”

”Good. How much?”

”Twelve for a buck.”

”I was thinking more like half a pound,” Frank said.

”That's a lot of fis.h.i.+ng.”

”Worm bin. I'm stocking a worm bin. Half a pound is what it'll take. How much?”

”Worm bin? How about fifteen dollars?”

Frank nodded. ”But I don't want a tub full of peat moss, or whatever it is you keep them in.”

The counterman laughed. ''I'll screen them out. Take a couple of minutes.”

”Fine. I'll have coffee while I wait.”

The counterman motioned toward a carafe. ”Help yourself.” He vanished into the rear of the store.

Frank got a cup of coffee, picked up a local tabloid newspaper, and started to read. After a few seconds, he whistled. ”G.o.d almighty!” he said, glancing at the three men who had remained silent at their table. ”Looks like you got yourself a mite of trouble in these parts.”

The newspaper was full of the story of the three deaths and had a signed article about people's suspicions of their cause.

”A curse,” Frank muttered, scanning the article. He looked up and said, ”It's like that movie, The Blair Witch Project. You fellows see that?”

Two of the three men appeared to be in their fifties, the youngest about thirty; all of them were dressed in jeans and bootswork clothes. Farmers or orchardists.

One of the middle-aged ones said, ”That's exactly what I thought.”

”c.r.a.p,” the youngest one said.

”I don't know,” the third one said. ”It's funny when you begin to add things up, put them together like Gus did.”

A minute later Frank was seated at the table, listening to them recount the series of things that had gone wrong over the past ten years or so. The counterman returned and joined them. Presently their talk turned to Doc Minick and his sick friend, or patient.

”You ever see him without that cap? Mitch Farentino did, and he said you could see plain as day where they cut the horns off. Bet if you shucked his pants, you'd find a scar like that on his tailbone.”

”Yeah, and where do they go for weeks at a time?” The speaker leaned in closer and said, ”I think that's when he gets out of control and Doc has to dope him down hard to keep him in line. Or maybe take him out on the desert somewhere and let him howl.”

”If I ever caught him even glancing at my little sister, I'd kill the son of a b.i.t.c.h.”

”Son of the devil,” one of them said. He chuckled. ”That's all Gus ever called him-devil freak, or devil sp.a.w.n. That means son of the devil.”

”Gus was a good man, honest as they come.”

”Yep,” the counterman said. ”If he found a ten-dollar bill on the road, he'd put an ad in the paper for the owner to come claim it.”

”He was born a hundred years too late,” the young man said. ”He would have fit right in in my great-grandfather's time.”

”Nothing wrong with living with principles,” the counterman said. ”That's what Gus did. He had principles and he lived by them.”

”Gus Marchand was a crazy zealot!” the young man said. ”And you're all buying into his line of bulls.h.i.+t.” He stood up and pushed his chair back roughly. ”I've gotta go.”

Just then the door to the store opened and a large, tall man entered. Dr. Minick, Frank thought, studying him with interest as the group at the table turned into statues. Minick was about Frank's age, with silver-gray hair and a deeply weathered face. He had a slight stoop, but his eyes were fierce, like a young man's angry eyes.

The counterman started to rise, but Minick said, ”Don't bother, Benny. I'm not buying anything. I dropped in to tell you to pa.s.s the word: Alex has gone to visit friends. He's not up at the house and won't be for quite a spell.”

”Now, Doc, don't get on your high horse. You know I've not got anything against you or Alex.”

”Just pa.s.s the word.” He turned and strode out again.

The young man hurried out after him.

Benny stood up the rest of the way and glanced at Frank. ”I wet down your worms. You should keep them pretty damp and out of the sun.”

The men at the table were starting to push their chairs back; the social hour was over. Frank paid for his worms, the coffee, and the newspaper and went out to his car, where he could see the spur to the old road. The young man had caught up with Dr. Minick, and they were walking together.

They had been talking about Alex Feldman, Minick's young companion, he thought as he drove home. The one who would not go into the library. Bit by bit he brought to mind what Hilde had said about him, and it was not much. He had led the kids in the Dungeons & Dragons game that got Gus riled up years ago and he didn't go out in public.

It was only a few minutes' walk from the Minick house to the Marchand house. What if Hilde had seen Alex Feldman entering or leaving the woods that separated the houses that day? Where was he now? And where had he been on Thursday night when Hilde died? He began to drive faster. He wanted to get home and call Bailey.

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