Lake of Tears (23 page)

He wasn’t sure what the doctors had told his wife, but she was adamant that he retire. “It’s time for us to be together,” she had said.

“And do what?” he asked.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Jigsaw puzzles. We both like them.”

As Talbert sat at his old desk, a day filled with puzzles and carved bowls sounded like he’d be spending a lot of time in front of the TV and napping. He didn’t want to go to sleep for the rest of his life.

But he knew he had to give up the job. He had given it up. It was time for him to move on, and let Claire Watkins take over as sheriff. She was ready, and she still had the energy, and, as far as he knew, her heart was beating strong.

He looked up and she was standing in the doorway. “May I come in?” she asked.

“Hey, it’s your office.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Make it your own,” he suggested. “Maybe get a new desk.”

She walked in and ran a hand down the surface of the desk. “I might do that. Have Rich make me a desk.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take this one. Get it out of your way?”

“That would be great. I guess I’ll have to make some changes, and we might as well start with the desk.”

He stood up. “I’ll come and get it in a day or two.”

“I might need you to come in a few times a week to help me settle in,” Claire said.

“Be glad to do that.”

“I’m not sure … .”

He put his hand on her shoulder and wasn’t sure he had ever touched her before, other than to shake her hand. “You’re going to be great. You were made for this job. Just took a heart attack for me to see that. Plus, I have been making plans for my retirement.”

Her face brightened. “Oh, yes, that sounds good. Are you going to travel?”

“Might. The wife doesn’t like airplanes much, but we could take the train.”

“What else?”

He scrambled. He didn’t want to sound like a loser, playing jigsaw puzzles. “I’ve been thinking of learning Latin.”

“Wow,” Claire said.

“Yeah, I’ve never learned another language and that is supposed to be the mother of them all.”

“Maybe you’ll become a scholar.”

He laughed. “From sheriff to scholar. Could happen.”

“Just let me know if you need any help with clearing up in here,” she said as she backed out the door.

“Good job on the Whitman case.”

“Thanks.”

“You do good work, Claire.”

Meg watched Andrew as he walked through the crowd of people at the Fort. He was such a good man. He listened to people. He believed in things. He had even fought for them.

He stopped and talked to Mrs. Baumgarden. The old woman put her small hand on his arm and he patted it. He didn’t try to rush away. Even though he knew Meg was there, across the room, waiting for him.

Meg had known what she had to do, but now she knew it more deeply. She couldn’t be with Andrew. She wasn’t ready. Everybody made a big deal that he was eight years older than her, but the years didn’t matter. What was insurmountable was that he had been to a country that she hoped never to visit—a land of danger and dying. Desolate in a way that no place should be.

She was not ready to take on such a man, such a place, such despair.

Andrew hugged Mrs. Baumgarden, said goodbye, and then strode quickly to Meg’s side.

“Hey, you made it,” he said. “Can you stay?”

“Just for a moment.”

With those words, he knew. She could tell by the way he turned his head to look at the crowd. “Busy here tonight,” he said.

“Yeah, everybody heard what happened here. I guess they want to see the holes for themselves.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if they just leave the holes for souvenirs,” Andrew said, laughing.

“Andrew,” Meg started.

He put a finger on her lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m so sorry you had to witness what you did, but so glad to have known you. You’re off on a big adventure, and I am too. I’m starting therapy at the VA and I’ll probably be living in the Twin Cities while I do that. I thought I could jump right back into real life, but I guess I have to deal with what happened over there.”

“You’re going to do great,” Meg said, wishing she could say more.

“So are you,” he said.

He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head, and she knew it would have to do for now. They were going very separate ways, but what they had shared together they would keep.

Claire stood and watched him digging on the shoreline. It was past ten o’clock and one of the campers had called her at home to report a man doing something strange on the beach.

“I called the mayor first, but he told me to call you,” the woman told her.

“Yes, I can take care of it,” Claire said, as she was pretty sure she knew who it was and what he was doing.

She would let him finish his task before she stepped in to stop him. She guessed why he was doing it, and she agreed with him. There was a reason that ashes were so often scattered over water. Yes, we came from and went back to dust. But in the beginning, we come out of the water.

Claire could tell it was Terry Whitman from the shape of his body, slightly bent over, and that cap he was wearing on his head. The lime green color of it showed up fluorescent under the dim overhead lights of the campground.

He had been charged with accessory after the fact, but the judge had let him go on his own reconnaissance. Because he had a home and a job, he wasn’t seen as much of a flight risk.

Possibly what he was doing right now was illegal, but Claire wasn’t going to turn him in for it. We all mourn in our own ways, we all try to take care of what little was left to do when the person we love dies. She figured throwing some dirt in Lake Pepin was a pretty innocent way to acknowledge all he had lost.

After a few more shovelfuls, he stopped to leaned on the handle and stare out across the lake. The night was quiet and the lake was calm. Clear enough to see the opposite shore. She breathed deeply and took in the cool autumn air. The weatherman said it might go below freezing tonight, and she believed it. No clouds in the sky to hold in the warmth.

Slowly she walked up to him, making some noise so she wouldn’t startle him. “Hey, Terry.”

He turned, dropped the shovel, and said, “I just had to take care of this.”

“Fine. But now it’s time to stop and go home.”

“Tammy would have liked to go up in flames. I mean, not at her age, not so young, but she would have liked the drama of it. She always said she wanted to be cremated, and she was really into the natural stuff.”

“That’s nice,” Claire said. “A good way to look at it.”

“I’m not sorry for what I did, even if I did it for the wrong reasons and even if I have to pay for it. Going up in ashes with the Burning Boat would have pleased her.”

Claire waited.

“And she loved the lake. She wanted to get married down here by the lake. I thought it was a goofy idea, why not just a church like regular people, but she insisted we do it by the lake.”

“Sounds like it would have been nice.”

“You know, I loved her. And she did love me. In her own way. Andrew was just her past, and she would have gotten over him.”

“Hmm,” Claire agreed.

“We would have been happy.” He put the shovel over his shoulder and headed to his car.

“Do you know how many people I killed over there?” Doug asked.

Claire was standing back, behind Doug so he wouldn’t be too aware of her there. She was glad to see that Doug was talking. He hadn’t said much to her this morning. She was afraid he was going to clam up with the psychiatrist she had brought in to evaluate him.

“No,” Dr. Fallow said, then waited. Fallow was a young woman who wore her hair pulled back tight and a blue blazer like a Catholic schoolgirl, but she was very sharp and persistent. She also knew when to shut up and listen.

“I don’t either. I lost count. I couldn’t keep remembering. Sometimes I didn’t know if I killed them. Maybe they didn’t die.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I did it for my country. I guess. Mainly I just did it so I’d stay alive.”

“So why did you kill your grandmother?” Dr. Fallow asked, quietly.

“I’ve already told the cops.”

“I need to hear it, too. From you. To see if you are sane, as I’ve told you. In your own words.”

“I don’t mind. Simple. She didn’t want to live anymore. I couldn’t take care of her any other way. Her life was over, but her body hadn’t quit yet. That’s all. I know she wanted me to end it, but she just didn’t know how to ask.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I loved her and I could tell she had had enough. I could tell because I’ve had enough.” He crumpled in his chair. “I don’t want to live anymore, either. I wish I would have died over there. Then I’d be a hero. Now I’m just a criminal. What’s the difference? Where you kill someone? Whether you kill them because you love them or you hate them? What if you kill them and you don’t even know them? What makes that right?”

“I don’t have the answers to those questions.” Fallows looked down and spread a hand out on the table. “Did you know what you were doing when you shot her?”

“Sure I did. I waited until she was sleeping and then I took my grandfather’s gun and shot her.”

“What about Tammy Lee Johansen?”

“Well, that was different.”

“How so?”

“It was an accident. I didn’t really know her, just from a picture. I didn’t really mean to kill her, just to scare her away from Andrew.”

“Who’s Andrew?”

“One of my best buddies. He and I and Brian vowed we’d get through the war together, or go down fighting.”

“Sounds like you all went down fighting.”

“I guess. I don’t know anymore. I thought Andrew had let go of Brian, but he says that Brian let him go. Maybe Brian changed his mind. Maybe he just wanted to die, too.” Doug shook his head. “I’m sorry that girl died. I’m sorry that Brian died. I hope Andrew does okay. He was always a good guy. Even when I hated him, I still liked him.”

The sheriff’s office was hers now. Pretty spare. Claire had moved her desk off the floor and brought it into the office. Maybe someday Rich would have time to make her a nicer desk, but right now she had work to do.

She had brought an old wingback chair from home and put it in the corner of the room, with an afghan her mother had crocheted spread on it. With a lamp behind it, it would make a nice place to read and to have people wait for her. She knew it was a feminine touch, but decided there was nothing wrong with that.

A designer she had been friends with believed that a more homey environment created an atmosphere of civility. Lord knows, we need more civility, she thought.

Two straight-backed chairs sat opposite her desk. Not too comfortable, but solid.

Two pictures sat on the top of the bookshelf: Rich, sitting amongst a flock of pheasants, smiling his generous smile, and Meg, lounging on the deck with flowers that she had picked in her hair. She was sixteen in the photo, and even though Claire knew she could not keep her daughter that age, she was so glad to have the picture of her happy daughter.

The door was left open, a new custom she had started. She only closed the door when she was in a private conversation, or when she was gone. She had gotten used to the hum of noise on the floor and liked to hear it in the background. Plus she wanted to be accessible, available to her deputies.