While she worked, she asked, “What’s between you and this cousin of yours? Jewell.”
Cork stretched his leg and grimaced. “We haven’t been on speaking terms for quite a while.”
Dina opened a couple of kitchen drawers, located a grater, and began to shred the cheddar onto a plate. “Why’s that?”
“I arrested her husband.”
“No kidding? What for?”
“Trespassing and disturbing the peace.”
“A troublemaker?”
“Not exactly. It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Cork settled back. “Daniel was adopted, but it wasn’t a pleasant childhood. He didn’t know anything about his real parents. All you had to do was look at him to know there was a lot of Indian in him. After he and Jewell got married, he tried to find his mother. Turned out she was a Shinnob.”
“Anishinaabe. Ojibwe, right?”
“Same thing. She was from L’Anse, the reservation on the Keweenaw just the other side of the Huron Mountains. She’d passed away by then, but Daniel got in touch with her people. Not long after that, his grandfather, an old guy named Jacob Harker, came here to live with him and the family for a couple of years. Daniel told me it was a kind of watershed experience. He discovered a way of looking at things that made sense to him. The problem was that he’d found something Jewell didn’t have any interest in sharing. I gather it was a sore point in their marriage.”
“What about the arrest?”
“Seven, eight years ago, not long after Daniel’s grandfather passed away, they came for a visit to Aurora. Daniel was a quiet guy. I liked him. While they were visiting, a situation developed. A group of Shinnobs from the Iron Lake Reservation blocked access to a stand of virgin white pines scheduled to be cut by a logging company. The Anishinaabeg called the trees Ninishoomisag, which means ‘Our Grandfathers,’ and considered them sacred. Daniel joined the protestors.”
“And you arrested him for that?”
“Not for that. And not just him. A fight broke out between some of the Ojibwe and some of the loggers. That’s when I made the arrests.”
“On both sides?”
“Both sides.”
“You say this Daniel wasn’t a hothead?”
“Not at all. It was just the circumstances. But after that he became more and more involved in the wider Indian community and concerns, and in exploring his own Indian identity. I used to think Jewell resented the fact that I arrested her husband. Now I think it was because the arrest sent him in a direction she didn’t want to follow.”
Dina put the pan over a low flame on the stove and dropped in a pat of butter. She cracked the eggs into a bowl, and added water, salt, and pepper. “How’d he die?” she asked. She began to beat the mixture with a fork.
He watched her work, admiring how she suddenly seemed as at home in the kitchen as she’d been in the deep wilderness only a few days earlier, sighting her rifle on the heart of a man intent on murdering him.
“He’d become a pretty well-known artist with his photography and painting,” Cork said. “A few years ago, there was a brouhaha down in Wisconsin over tribal hunting and fishing activities. Whites felt the Ojibwe had overstepped their bounds. The Ojibwe believed they were exercising their rights under the terms of treaties the government had signed. There were some violent confrontations. We had pretty much the same situation in Minnesota.”
“Seems to me I remember reading about it in the papers.”
“Daniel documented the confrontations, took some pretty damning photos that captured the anger and violence, especially on the part of the whites involved. Got national exposure. After that, he received requests from a lot of tribes all over the country who were deep in conflicts of one kind or another. He traveled a good deal, helping wherever he could. Another huge issue between him and Jewell.
“A little over a year ago, he agreed to document a standoff that had developed between the Shoshone in Montana and a mining company, something to do with coal reserves that ran under tribal land. He flew to Billings and was met at the airport by one of the tribal members who was supposed to drive him to the site. It was getting dark. On the way, a red and white begins to flash behind them. They pull over. Four men in khaki uniforms approach, ask them to step from the vehicle, then proceed to beat the crap out of them. The Shoshone survived. I understand he has a metal plate in his head. Daniel was in a coma for several weeks. Never came out of it. Jewell finally made the decision to pull the plug. The men responsible were never identified.”
“That’s pretty tough.”
“Jewell’s still taking it hard. Ren seems to have rebounded better.”
Dina put the eggs in the pan on the stove and began to work them with a spatula. “For a guy who hasn’t seen his cousin in several years, you know a lot.”
“It was in all the papers. And I keep abreast in other ways, through relatives.”
A couple of minutes later, Dina transferred the eggs to a plate. She poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Cork at the table. She’d just seated herself when Ren stepped from his bedroom.
“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Your kolache and latte. They’re still out in the ATV. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. I’m fine.” She gave him a bright smile.
“Thanks,” Ren said.
“For what?”
“Being there with me. You know. At Charlie’s. With the police and all.”
“Glad I could help.”
Cork said, “Ren, your cougar’s back.”
The boy’s eyes grew big, like dark mushroom buttons. “You saw it?”
“No, I heard it. I had a sense it was circling the resort.”
Dina looked up from the forkful of eggs about to disappear into her mouth. “Circling? As in stalking?”
“I don’t know cougars,” Cork replied. “What I know about most wild creatures, really wild, who’ve had any exposure to humans is that they’ll do their best to stay clear of us.”
“Why wouldn’t the cougar?” Dina asked.
“Hunger would be my first guess.”
Ren shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think it would have any trouble finding food in the Hurons.”
Cork shrugged. “Then maybe its environment’s been invaded or threatened.”
Dina sipped her coffee. “What animal would threaten a cougar?”
“Us. Humans,” Ren said. “Boy, a cougar. That would be something to see.”
“Unless it was coming at your throat,” Dina pointed out.
“I don’t think anyone should wander far from the cabins,” Cork said.
Ren nodded vaguely, but Cork saw the boy’s eyes stray to the window and wistfully study the distant wooded hills.
The rattle of suspension came from the resort road, and a minute later Jewell pulled her Blazer to a stop behind Dina’s Pathfinder. Through the screen door, Cork watched her leap out and bound up the steps to the cabin. She came in, went straight to Ren, took his head in her hands and looked deeply into his face.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
She hugged him and kissed the top of his head. Ren glanced at Cork, then Dina. His face flushed from embarrassment at his mother’s display of concern.
“Where’s Charlie?” Jewell asked. She released him from her embrace and held him at arm’s length.
“I don’t know. She wasn’t there.”
“Providence House, you think?”
“Maybe.”
“Providence House?” Dina said.
Jewell seemed to notice her for the first time, and not with pleasure. “You’re Cork’s friend.”
“Dina Willner.”
“Mom,” Ren said as he edged between Jewell and Dina, “she, like, went with me and talked to the police and all. She was great.”
Jewell’s dark Ojibwe eyes held for an icy moment on the other woman. “Thank you.”
“This Provid
ence House. What is it?” Dina asked.
Ren leaped in. “A place where Charlie sometimes stays. It’s in Marquette.”
Dina sipped her coffee. “You neglected to mention that to the police, Ren.”
“If Charlie’s there, I didn’t want them finding her. I mean, Jesus, they think she killed her dad.” Ren looked up at his mother. “Could we see if she’s there? You know, call or something?”
Jewell put a light, protective hand on her son’s shoulder. “I’m sure they won’t give out information over the phone, Ren. But maybe if we went in person.”
“Could we?”
Jewell glanced at Cork, and he realized that she was seeking his advice.
“If she’s there, she’s safe,” Cork offered. “Once you know that, you can decide the best course of action. And maybe help her decide, too. I’d recommend she talk to the sheriff’s people, but that’s up to her.”
Ren seemed momentarily troubled. “But if she doesn’t want to talk to them, that’s okay, right?”
“She could be what’s called a material witness,” Cork told him. “That makes it tough. If you know where she is and you don’t tell the police, they could charge you with a crime. Me, I’d find out if she’s there. Wouldn’t you like to know she’s safe? Then you can decide what to do.”
“Mom,” Ren said. “We’ve got to go.”
“All right. Wait for me in the Blazer.”
Ren darted out without saying good-bye. Jewell delayed her own departure.
“You’ve been walking on that leg?”
“Yeah. Too much probably.”
“If you want a cane, I’ll get you one.”
“Thanks.”
She went to the guest room and came back with a wooden cane, the handle carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. “Daniel made this.”
Cork gratefully took the cane. “I know I promised I’d be gone. We’ll leave soon.”
Jewell studied him, then spent a moment looking Dina over. A smell came off his cousin that Cork suddenly realized was the strong clean scent of Phisohex, the soap she probably used to clean herself after she’d spent time with an animal. The knees of her jeans carried soiled ovals where she’d knelt in the dirt, doing her work. She gave her head a single faint shake.
“I’d rather you stayed.” On a softer note she added, “If you’re willing.”
15
Ren sat on the far side of the Blazer’s front seat, staring straight ahead. Jewell drove for a while in silence, not sure what to say to him, wondering, a little desperately and sadly, if she really knew her son.
He’d always been quiet. Like his father. Daniel was a contemplative man. When he talked with Jewell, it was usually about common things—what needed fixing around the resort, the weather, Ren. When he spoke out in public, which was seldom, his words were chosen carefully and his views well considered. Until he became identified as a troublemaker, an Indian troublemaker, he’d been respected in Bodine.
That they were Ojibwe, the only Indians in the town, had never been an issue. Jewell’s family had never acted Indian, and those residents of Bodine who knew of their mixed heritage didn’t seem to care. Daniel’s involvement with the Indian causes, and especially his brutal death, had changed that, branded the DuBois in an unhappy way. Being Ojibwe hadn’t always been a burden for Ren, but it seemed so now. Occasionally, when she was particularly concerned, Jewell considered moving closer to the reservation near L’Anse, where many of Daniel’s relatives lived. If they were going to be thought of as Indian, they might as well be among those who’d understand. She’d said nothing about this to Ren, and she realized now that there was much in her own mind she hadn’t said to her son. She’d thought the silence that sometimes came between them was Ren’s choice, a sinking into himself as he dealt with his father’s death. But she considered now that perhaps the silence was really her choice.
“You okay?” she asked.
His head jerked toward her, as if her speaking surprised him. “Yeah. I guess. I’m, like, scared for Charlie. You know?”
“I understand. But I can’t think of anyone who can take care of herself as well as Charlie. Except maybe you.”
He nodded, twice, seriously.
“Mom, he was …” His voice stretched out as he sought the words to finish his thought. Apparently he didn’t find them.
“He? You mean Max?”
“Yeah. He was, you know, all messed up.”
She wondered if he was referring to the man’s mental state or his physical condition at death.
Ren looked at her, imploring. “But Charlie didn’t do it. She couldn’t have, Mom. Not like that.”
Jewell wanted to tell him that he was right, that Charlie would never do anything so brutal. She wished she could say that despite his faults, Max loved his daughter so much that even drunk he’d never do something threatening enough to drive Charlie to such an extreme response. But the truth was that when he was drinking, Max Miller generally turned belligerent and the potential for violence was always there, lurking in that cramped, messy trailer like a vicious pit bull.
“We’ll find Charlie,” she said. “And then we’ll find out the truth.”
It wasn’t exactly comforting, but neither would it give him false hope.
The day had warmed, low fifties, and was holding bright. A strong and steady wind had risen, sweeping out of the northwest over the high ground of the Keweenaw Peninsula, whipping the lake into a frenzy. Whenever Superior came into view, Jewell saw white-caps leaping across the water.
They entered Marquette and drove south on Presque Isle Avenue past Northern Michigan University’s Superior Dome. She wove her way to Ridge Street and turned left, which took her past the Landmark Inn where scenes from Anatomy of a Murder had been filmed.
Providence House stood on the corner a block past the inn. It was a sturdy three-story built of red stone. Originally, it had been one of the many fine houses on Ridge, constructed around the turn of the century on a hilltop with a million-dollar view of the harbor. Somewhere along the way, it had taken a more utilitarian turn and been converted into apartments. Most recently, a nonprofit organization called Children First had bought the property and turned it into a shelter for runaways and homeless youth. Several programs operated within its walls, providing everything from simple short-term shelter to more extensive, long-term support for teens who were chronically homeless. The wealthy neighbors weren’t fond of the house or its mission, and constantly threatened legal action. Jewell knew these things because once she’d learned that Charlie used the place as shelter, she’d done a thorough investigation. As a result, Providence House had become one of the nonprofit organizations to which she donated.
She parked the Blazer on the street in front and said to Ren, “Wait here.”
“Unh-uh.” Ren shook his head vigorously. “I’m coming, too.” He didn’t wait for Jewell to respond before popping his door open and sliding out.
The rear of the property ran down a long, grassy slope to a line of trees through which the blue of the harbor flashed in luminous patches. An old carriage house stood half hidden behind the big main building. Marigolds still bloomed along the sidewalk that led to the front steps. A fresh coat of white paint brightened the window frames. Jewell knew that because the neighbors weren’t happy to have a program like Providence House so near, those responsible for the shelter worked hard to keep the place looking good.
Jewell opened the front door and stepped in, Ren right behind her. Inside, the place was quiet and felt empty. To the left was a living room furnished with a brown area rug, a couple of end tables, a sofa, and several chairs, none of which matched and all of which faced the television. Through French doors to the right, she could see a long, scratched dining table around which sat ten chairs. Directly ahead was an uncarpeted stairway. Beside the stairs ran a hallway that led toward darkness at the back of the building where the murmur of voices could be heard.
“Hello,” Jewell called.<
br />
“Wait right there.” It was a command, not a request.
Jewell had driven past Providence House on several occasions, assessing it from the street, but she’d never been inside before. Charlie, when she stayed, always got there on her own and, when she was ready, found her own way back to Bodine. She’d never asked for Jewell’s help.
Ren said quietly, “It’s not so bad.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Like, mattresses on the floor or something.”
Jewell found this interesting. Charlie had never talked to her about Providence House, which she assumed was because she was an adult. She’d supposed, however, that as her best friend Ren had probably been taken into her confidence. Apparently Charlie hadn’t spoken to him about it, either.
Sunlight flowed through a window beside the door and fell across the floor. The latticework of the leaded-glass panes created a pattern of shadow on the scuffed boards that suggested a spider’s web. A woman emerged from the dark hallway and stopped just short of the web. Midfifties, Jewell speculated. Gray hair cut sensibly short. She wasn’t tall—a few inches over five feet—but she had a solid quality to her. She wore black jeans, a red turtleneck, white canvas slip-ons. She looked at her visitors suspiciously.
“Yes?”
“Hi. I’m Jewell DuBois.” She stepped forward and offered her hand, which was accepted without enthusiasm. “This is my son, Ren.”
The woman blinked at them both and waited.
“We’re looking for a young woman who may be staying here.”
“I can’t give out information about our clients.”
“And you would be?”
“Mary Hilfiker. I’m the director here.”
“She’s disappeared and we’d like to be certain she’s all right, Mary,” Jewell went on. “She’s stayed here before. Her name is Charlene Miller. Charlie.”
The woman’s face didn’t change. “As I told you, I can’t give you information.”
“Not even just to confirm she’s okay?”