Part 10 (1/2)
”No. No I said, and no I meant. What word in that did you not understand?”
They rounded the corner of the house and beheld a yard. The bank sloped more gently on this stretch of beach, and the cabin sat in the middle of half an acre of cleared ground. There was a single drying rack, half full of split, boned king salmon. There was a net rack with green netting folded over it. There were various toys, including b.a.l.l.s and dolls and a set of children's playground swings that had been painted in bright, primary colors, now faded and rusting, but still working, if the little girl squeaking back and forth in one of them was any indication.
Her identical twin sister had planted herself in front of her mother, feet apart, hands at her waist. She had fair hair cut Prince Valiant style and from beneath the row of bangs brown eyes stared accusingly. ”Always with you it cannot be done.”
The mother didn't miss a beat. ”Hear you nothing that I say? On you shame! Temper, disobediencea Jedi knight behaves not this way!”
The daughter tested the determination in her mother's voice and found it firm. b.l.o.o.d.y but unbowed, she stamped off to join her sister, indignation written in flame down the line of her spine, and the two of them vanished like wood elves into the undergrowth at the edge of the yard. The mother turned back. ”Sorry about that,” she said, and added, when she saw their expressions, ”Star Wars. When they're not speaking to me, they're always speaking in the best Yoda. The only wav to get through is to retaliate in kind.”
Old Sam let out a crack of laughter, and she smiled a: him. ”Aren't you Sam Dementieff?”
”Yes, I am,” he said, and doffed his hat. ”I'm proud you remember me, Reverend Flanagan.”
”Oh please, out here just call me Anne.”
”Reverend?” Kate said.
”Sure,” Old Sam said, his crooked, callused hand enveloping Anne's smaller, no less callused one. ”Anne here's the minister of the Presbyterian church in Cordova. I thought you knew that, girl.”
Kate looked across at the other woman, who was regarding her with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. ”No,” she said slowly, reaching out to take the minister's hand in a very brief clasp. ”No, I didn't.”
”What did they want to do?” Old Sam said. ”Your kids? They are twins, aren't they?”
”Yes, they are twins, may G.o.d have more mercy on me in my next life.” Anne Flanagan smiled and set out a plate of chocolate-striped shortbread, Old Sam's favorite cookie on the planet. Old Sam looked like he was in love.
”They wanted to go up to Mary Balashoff's. Mary is kippering salmon today and they want to know how.”
”Well h.e.l.l, let 'em. Mary's been teaching kids to fish and such for the last thirty years.” Old Sam dunked his cookie in coffee and bit into it with a satisfied grunt.
”Usually I do, but her place is across the creek, and the tide's coming in, and” She paused, and busied herself at the sink, was.h.i.+ng out a mug with special care.
”And they'll have to cross the site between yours and Mary's, and Meany's is that site, and Meany's just been murdered and you don't want your kids anywhere near the place,” Old Sam finished for her.
Anne Flanagan turned from the sink to give the old man a rueful smile. ”Silly, isn't it?”
He snorted into his mug. ”No way, lady. You keep them as far away from that bunch as you can. Those folks got problems, and I don't mean just with the killing of their man. They give the word 'dysfunction' a whole new definition.”
”You could go with them,” Kate said. ”With the twins to Mary's.”
Anne Flanagan's fine blue eyes rested on her face for a moment. ”I could,” she agreed, ”and I probably will, later, but for now I've got bread rising and half a dozen other ch.o.r.es left to do.” She smiled again at Old Sam. ”You know how it is with kids. They want everything yesterday.”
”You've heard about the murder, then,” Kate said, before this turned into Old Home Week at the Y.
The minister poured out a cup of coffee and sat down across the table from her. ”Yes.”
”Who told you?” Old Sam frowned at her abrupt tone, but she ignored him.
”Wendell Kritchen.”
Wendell had brought Frank back from town, and couldn't wait to spread the bad news. The DEW line of the Bush telegraph, that was Wendell. ”He tell you Meany was murdered?”
Anne Flanagan's mouth pulled down a little at the corners, with distress or distaste, Kate couldn't decide. ”Yes.”
”State Trooper Jim Chopin asked me to do a little preliminary investigating while he takes the body to the coroner in Anchorage,” Kate said. ”We've just come from the Meany place.”
Anne Flanagan's eyebrows raised in a polite question.
”Neil Meany told us he was here for dinner last night. Reverend Flanagan.”
Kate would have sworn on oath that the slight emphasis on the other woman's t.i.tle wasn't voluntary. Anne Flanagan's eyes narrowed a little. ”Why, yes, he was.”
No invitation to call her by her first name, but then Kate didn't seek the privilege, thanks anyway. ”What time did he get here?”
”Right after the period was over,” the minister said readily. ”He brought one of those j.a.panese floats over for the girls. I invited him to stay for supper. Spaghetti and garlic bread, leftovers warmed up from the night before,” she added, her first trace of sarcasm, and surprised a snort of laughter out of Old Sam.
”When did he leave?”
”He helped with the dishes, and we talked. The girls were outside playing until lateI let them go to bed when they want to, out hereand when they came in, they wanted to play Monopoly. They like Neil, too. I made coffee, and Neil had one cup, and we played one game, and he left.”
”What time?”
”I don't know.”
”I beg your pardon?”
”I don't know,” Anne Flanagan repeated, and smiled at Old Sam. ”We don't have a clock. The sun was down by the time he left, had been down for a while, so it was late.”
”Past midnight? One o'clock?”
”I'd guess the girls came in about midnight. Maybe a little before, maybe a little after, I don't know. They're such night owls, the two of them. And then the game, which took a while. Monopoly always takes a while.”
”But you don't know how long a while?”
”No. Like I said, no clocks. And then we had another cup of coffee, and then he went home.” Anne Flanagan paused, turning her mug between her hands. ”That's the rule, no watches, no clocks. No sundials, no hourgla.s.ses, no s.h.i.+p's bells, no poles in the sand, no chronometers of any kind.”
One corner of Old Sam's mouth curled up and, encouraged, Anne Flanagan added, ”This beach has always seemed to me like a place out of time. Our nearest neighbors are at anchor or four miles down. There are no roads, and while what with fish spotting and stream surveys and sport fishermen you can't get away from the planes, the only time one lands on our section is to bring us here or take us home. Time ” She shrugged. ”It doesn't exist. It does exist, I know that, but”
”Here you wag it, instead of it wagging you,” Old Sam suggested.
An answering smile spread across Anne Flanagan's face. ”Yes. This time of year it's easy. The sun doesn't go down, it just goes around.”
At this lat.i.tude that was an exaggeration, but not much of one. Kate was skeptical. ”How do you know when you can put your net in the water?”
The smile faded. ”We wait until everyone else has theirs in the water. Sometimes Lamar Rousch goes by in his boat and says it's time.”
Kate barely repressed a snort. ”You can miss a lot of fish that way.”
”It's not about making money for us, Ms. Shugak,” Anne Flanagan said levelly.