Floating Staircase(54)

I thought long and hard before admitting she looked absolutely terrified.

“Right,” Earl agreed without hesitation. “Scared to death.”

There was something else that bothered me about the photos. I flipped through them a second and third time, trying to figure out what it was, but it eluded me.

“There were enough people milling about by the lake that afternoon, as you can imagine,” Earl said. “I blended right in, and after a while no one paid me any mind. I got close enough to eavesdrop when the cops were questioning David. The guy was calm and specific, unruffled by the cops’ questions. When it came time to ask Veronica some questions, she just sounded like a record skipping on a groove—’I was asleep. I was asleep. I was asleep.’ Finally, David told the cops to leave her alone, that she was delicate and they were upsetting her.” He shook his head, his eyes distant and glassy. “I can still hear her clear as day—’I was asleep. I was asleep.’”

“You think she was coached?”

“By David?”

“Who else?”

“It’s possible. But it’s hard to tell with that woman. I don’t think a single word that ever came from her mouth has sounded natural. That’d be my bet.”

“Hmmm,” I said, still flipping through the photographs. “You’re probably right.”

“None of them ever made it to print,” Earl said, still hunkering over my shoulder. “Fat Figgis said they were too gruesome for The Muledeer.”

“Fat Figgis?”

“Jan Figgis,” he said. “My editor. The woman’s four hundred pounds if she’s an ounce.”

“Can I hold on to these?”

“The photos? Shoot, you can keep ‘em.”

“Thanks,” I said, slipping the glossies inside the cover of one of my notebooks. “And can I bother you with a favor?”

“Bring it on, son,” he said, returning to his seat across from me at the table. (The epithet did not slip by me unnoticed.)

“I want to put your investigative skills to the test. I need you to locate a woman named Althea Coulter for me. All I know is she used to live in Frostburg and she’s most likely licensed as a grade school teacher.” I thought about how Nancy had referred to the woman, then added, “There’s a good chance she might already be dead, though.”

“Can I ask who this Althea Coulter is?”

“For a brief time, Elijah Dentman was home-schooled when he lived in my house. According to the Steins, Althea Coulter was his teacher. I want to talk to her.”

“Alive or dead,” Earl promised, “I’ll find her.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Honest writing, much like honest people, comes without wanting anything in return. I found myself on an exploration of characters—characters that begot story; story that begot emotion—traversing through Edenic pastures and Elysian fields where dead boys frolicked in barefooted bliss on the dew-showered plains, and terminal skies reflected the roiling slate seas instead of the other way around.



I was out back chopping firewood when Adam came over. I heard his boots crunching through the crust of snow before I actually saw him emerge from the trees.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” I went on chopping. The goddamn furnace was still uncooperative, so Jodie and I were going through several logs a day in the fireplace. It hadn’t snowed for days, but it was still deathly cold.

“Haven’t seen you in a couple days. I popped in yesterday, but Jodie said you’d gone out somewhere. Some book research or something.”

“Yeah.”

“You ever take any of that stuff to Veronica Dentman? I never heard how it went.”

“I did,” I said, splitting another log.

“And . . . ?”

I rested the axe head in the snow and leaned on the handle. I was out of breath and sweating despite the cold. “I brought her a box. She was . . . standoffish.”

“Understandable. You probably gave her one hell of a shock showing up like that.”

“Then David came home, and he gave me one hell of a shock. He thought I was a cop.”

Adam chewed his lower lip. “Nothing happened, did it?”

“What would happen?”

“Never mind.”

“Did you guys know he has a criminal record?”

Adam looked away from me. His nose was red and one nostril glistened. “Don’t tell me that just came up in conversation with him.”

“No. I found that out on my own.”

“How?”

“That’s not important,” I said, not wanting to get Earl and his elusive sources mixed up in all this. “Did you know?”

“About David’s past? If you’re questioning the PD’s investigative techniques, that’s really none of your business.”

“It’s just a simple question.”

“Of course we knew. We ran a background on him. What do you think, we’re a bunch of Barney Fifes out here, tripping over our shoelaces and shooting ourselves in the foot?”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

“To know for what?”