Читаем Back of Beyond полностью

And that was just off the top of his head. He had to stay as sharp and determined as possible, despite the pain and bone-weariness, so he drank strong coffee and chain-smoked cigarettes and paced and thought.

He lived in a rented duplex with a decent view of Mount Helena from the backyard deck. But the structure was getting tired-old carpets, scarred molding, torn screens, windows that didn’t shut tight. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms, which was too many of each. One bedroom sat completely empty, the other was full of junk and empty moving boxes from a year before, and he had a bed he rarely used except for sex because he always fell asleep on the couch. Books were stacked from floor to ceiling in the living room but he’d never bought a bookcase since his divorce. He kept the downstairs bathroom door closed because it stank of duck. Bringing that wounded mallard drake home and letting it paddle around in the bathtub for weeks had left a stench that wouldn’t go away. Stupid duck, he thought. He was glad when it finally flew away.

He went into his basement office and fired up his computer and sent the list of names to Larry. Within seconds, Larry thanked him in a terse e-mail. Then Cody started pacing.

Every time he passed one of his two phones he stared at it, willing it to ring. On the hour, he checked for messages from the sheriff or Larry or anyone. His hands shook and his skin felt twitchy.

He ran through the scenario that best fit the facts and his own speculation. Hank flew back from Salt Lake City and stopped at the supermarket on the way from the airport, buying food for two. He rushed home to cook it.

Cody stopped and smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Maybe it was a woman. Maybe Hank had a date. He hadn’t even considered a woman before, but now it made even more sense than a man. But big steaks? That was man food. He shook his head and started pacing again.

So the guest arrived not long after Hank. They hadn’t even started the grill yet, so they must have been catching up (man) or who-knows-what (woman). Then, for some reason, the visitor clocked Hank in the head. He didn’t even eat first, which said to Cody the attack was likely quick and premeditated and not a crime of passion that arose from whatever transpired in the cabin that night. When Hank was incapacitated, he (she?) took Hank’s AA coins and maybe something else-cash? Drug samples? Gold? A treasure map? — opened a bottle of alcohol, and left it close to the body. The visitor opened the door to the woodstove, filled it with lengths of pine until it was roaring, and then started the curtains or rug, and left the scene. And it all could have been just about perfect if it hadn’t started raining and not stopped for three days.

God, how he hated coming down. It hurt. If he could just have one beer.…

* * *

As the sultry afternoon melded into dusk he went out on the deck with his handset and began his round of telephone calls. This was one of the things he hated most about coming off a bender: apologizing to everyone he’d offended. Sometimes, it went on for hours. Sometimes, he found out friends and relatives never wanted to talk to him again, and he prepared to lose a couple more.

He started with Carrie Lowry, who listened with impatient silence until she interrupted and said she was busy. That her boyfriend Jim didn’t like getting awakened like that and blamed it on her. Then Skeeter, who refused to take his call. Then Skeeter’s wife Mayjean, who was cold and distant and irritatingly formal. The guy from the liquor store, who said, “No problem, come again any old time and throw hundred-dollar bills at me.” Finally, Jenny.

“You were drunk, weren’t you?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember denying it? You always deny it and act like you’re offended I even asked. That’s how I know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cody lit a cigarette off the one he’d been smoking so he wouldn’t miss a second of nicotine. He pictured her: long dark hair, blue eyes, pug nose, lush mouth, nice curves. She had a good sense of humor, too, once, before he separated her from it. He’d always love her, always want her, and she knew it. She just couldn’t live with him the way he was then, and the way he was the last two nights. He didn’t hold it against her.

“So this is the apology tour,” she said. “Am I the first stop?”

“No, I saved the most important one for last.”

“Ahhh,” she said, mocking.

He told her about what had happened. She broke in when he mentioned Alcoholics Anonymous.

“I’m so proud of you for going,” she said, her voice softening. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because if I fell off the wagon I didn’t want you to think I was a failure at that, too. Which, by the way, I did. Fall, I mean.”

“Then climb back on,” she said. “There’s no rule against that, is there?”