“What’s your problem?”
He could hardly answer that. “Just be more careful next time.”
Before she could say anything else, he walked away.
Outside, he paused on the concrete steps of the city hall. All around him, reporters were talking among themselves and packing up their gear. An American flag flapped in the breeze overhead.
Across the street, the white stone church sat huddled in the shade of a mammoth fir tree. When he looked closely, he saw the silhouette of a woman in the window.
Julia.
He used to be the kind of man who would cross the street now, go to her and offer help.
Instead, he went to his truck, climbed in, and headed for home.
As he drove down Lakeshore Drive, the sun began its slow descent toward the lake. At his battered mailbox, he withdrew the usual stack of junk mail and bills, then turned onto his driveway, which was a ribbon of potholed gravel road that unspooled through a nearly impenetrable forest. These were the acres his great-great-grandfather had homesteaded more than one hundred years ago, with the grandiose idea of building a world-class fishing and hunting lodge, but a single year in the wet, green darkness had changed the old man’s mind. He’d cleared two acres out of the one hundred he owned, and that was as far as he got. He moved to Montana and built his fishing lodge; in time he forgot about these wild acres tucked deep in the woods along Spirit Lake. They were passed from eldest son to eldest son as wills were read, until at last they came to Max. It was anticipated by the whole of his family that he would do with this land what had always been done with it: nothing. Each generation had checked on the value of the acreage; each had been surprised by how little it was worth. So they’d kept paying the taxes and ignoring their ownership of the land.
If his life had unfolded as he’d expected, no doubt Max would have done the same.
He parked in the garage, beside the Harley-Davidson “fat boy” motorcycle that was his favorite toy, and went into the house.
Inside, he flipped the light switches.
Emptiness greeted him.
There were precious few pieces of furniture in the great room: to the left was a huge pine table with a single chair at one end. A gorgeous river-rock fireplace covered the eastern wall, its mantel empty of decoration. In front of it was an oxblood leather sofa, a battered coffee table, and a beautiful wooden cabinet.
Max tossed his coat on the sofa, then felt beneath the cushions for a remote.
Within moments a plasma TV screen rose up from the custom-made rosewood cabinet. He clicked it on. It didn’t matter what was on the screen. All he cared about was the noise. He hated a quiet house.
He went upstairs, took a quick shower, and changed his clothes.
He was at the steamy mirror, shaving, when he thought about her again.
The pierced ear.
He put down his razor slowly, staring at the tiny dot in his ear. It was barely visible anymore; he hadn’t worn an earring in more than seven years.
But she’d seen it, and in seeing it, she’d glimpsed the man he used to be.
“You decided to hold a press conference without warning me?” Julia couldn’t help yelling at her sister. “Why not just tie a yellow ribbon around my throat and toss me to the wolves?”
“How was I supposed to know you’d stop by? You never came home last night, but I’m supposed to plan around your movements. Who am I? Carnac the Magnificent?”
Julia sat back in the car seat and crossed her arms. In the sudden silence, rain pattered the windshield of the police cruiser.
“Maybe the media should know you’re here. I’ll tell them how much we believe—”
“You think it would be a good thing to show my face on camera? Now? My patient—a kid, mind you—beat me up. It hardly is a ringing endorsement of my skills.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I know that,” Julia snapped. “Believe me when I tell you they won’t.”
It was the same thing she’d told herself a dozen times in the last thirty minutes. For a moment there, when she’d seen those reporters, she’d considered revealing herself as the doctor on this case. But it was too early. They no longer trusted her. She needed to do something right or they’d ruin her. Again.
She had to get the girl talking. And fast.