The Searcher(76)

“But you could take a guess.”

“I could, yeah. But I won’t.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind that scares easy,” Cal says. “Any more than Mart does.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t get involved in things.” She grins suddenly. “That does people’s heads in. There’s always someone trying to get me to join the Countrywomen’s Association, or the Tidy Towns. Probably if we’d had kids I’da done it: the PTA and sports clubs, and all the rest. But we never did, so I don’t have to. Sure, Noreen’s involved enough for the two of us.”

“That she is,” Cal says. “Some people are built that way, and some aren’t.”

“Tell that to Noreen. She’s been that way since the day she was born; it drives her mental that I’m not the same. That’s one reason why her and the rest are always trying to matchmake me. They think if I get myself a nice fella who’s up to his neck in the townland’s business, he’ll pull me in as well.” Lena gives Cal another grin, frank and mischievous, unembarrassed. “Which kind are you?”

“I enjoy being the kind that doesn’t get involved,” Cal says. “That suits me down to the ground.”

Lena’s eyebrows lift a little, but all she says is, “You can do that; no one’ll give you hassle. People around here respect a man who keeps to himself. It’s just a woman that makes them nervous as cats.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to get involved,” Cal says. “I’m just asking for your thoughts.”

“And I’m not planning on sharing them. You’re well able to get your own.” She glances up at the clock ticking on the wall. “I’ve to head in to work. Tell me now, do you want this pup, or did you just want an excuse to ask me about Brendan?”

“Little bit of both.”

Lena eases her own pup back into the basket and holds out her hands for Cal’s. She says, “So you’ll take this fella.”

Cal puts the pup gently into her hands, trying not to wake it, and gives it a last stroke along the white blaze on its nose. The pup, still mostly asleep, lifts its face and licks his finger.

He says, “Gimme another week or two. Just to be sure.”

Lena looks at him for a moment, unsmiling. Then she says, “Fair enough.” She turns away from him and tucks the pup carefully in among the rest.



Trey shows up late in the afternoon. The rain has finally worn itself out, so Cal is sitting on his back step, having a beer and watching the rooks. Their day seems to be winding down. Two of them are playing tug-of-war with a twig; another two are taking turns preening each other, lazily, exchanging remarks about what they find. Another one is off under the dripping hedge, burying something and throwing sneaky glances over his shoulder.

The sound of feet in wet grass makes Cal turn. Trey comes tramping around from the front of the house and dumps a packet of little white-frosted cupcakes onto the step. “You need to quit doing that,” Cal says. “Noreen’s gonna call the cops on you.”

“Those aren’t from Noreen’s,” Trey says. He looks tense and skinny again. To Cal, squinting up at him from the step, he also looks a shade taller, like he might be starting his teenage growth spurt. “I knocked.”

“Didn’t hear you,” Cal says. “I was thinking.”

“I called round earlier. And yesterday. You weren’t in.”

“Nope.”

“What were you doing? You find out anything?”

Cal finishes the last of his beer and gets up. “First things first,” he says, brushing off his rear end, which is damp from the step. “I’m gonna get my gun and we can have another try at those rabbits.”

Trey follows him indoors, close on his heels. “I wanta know.”

“And I’m gonna tell you. But if we want a chance at the rabbits, we need to get ourselves set up before they come out for their dinner.”

After a moment Trey accepts this with a nod. Cal gets his gun out of the safe and fills up his pockets with the other things they might need—bullets, his hunting knife, a bottle of water, a plastic bag—and they head for their spot facing the edge of the wood. The sky is one motionless spread of sulky gray cloud, with streaks of pale-rinsed yellow under the western edge. The grass is heavy with rain, and the earth gives underfoot.

“We’re gonna get wet,” Cal says. “And muddy.”

Trey shrugs.

“OK,” Cal says, settling himself on one knee in the grass. “You remember everything I showed you the other day?”

Trey gives him the moron look and holds out his hands for the gun.

“OK,” Cal says, handing it over. “Let’s see.”

Trey checks the gun, clicks the safety on and loads it, slowly but neatly and methodically, making no mistakes. Then he looks up at Cal.

“Good,” Cal says.

Trey keeps looking at him, unblinking. “Rabbits aren’t out yet.”

“All right,” Cal says. He sits himself down in the wet grass, takes the gun from Trey and rests it across his knees. He didn’t want to tell Trey that Brendan had some plan till he knew what it was, but nobody appears to have any intention of sharing that information with him, and he needs to get it somehow. “Here’s your update. I’ve talked to a bunch of people. What I’m getting is that Brendan had got pretty frustrated with being poor, so he came up with some plan that he reckoned would fix that. That fits with what you told me about him promising you a bike for your birthday. When’s your birthday?”