Mortal Fall Page 8

  I jotted a few notes and looked back up at her. “And again,” I said. “The autopsy should help with that too.” I wish I had more to offer her than the hopes of what a doctor may or may not find, and I wished it was already completed. Presuming this was either suicide or an accident, it didn’t take the same precedence with the coroner that an actual crime would. “Like I said, I will do all I can to figure this out.”

  She nodded and glanced down at her soggy tissue.

  I felt a hollowness settle in my chest as I stood to walk her out. When we got to the exit and I held the door for her, I said, “Are you okay to drive?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She went to push her hair behind her ear, then stopped and looked at her hand as if it was a foreign appendage. I wondered what she was thinking, that there was no point in straightening her hair under such circumstances, with her love now gone forever. She had probably performed this habitual move millions of times in her life without thinking, and suddenly, in the throes of shock, it seemed foreign to her. I thought of how grief did such strange things to people, and briefly, a shoved-down image of my long-lost friend Nathan Faraway bloomed in my mind. Nathan disappeared on a menacing Halloween evening in my seventh grade year, and no one was ever able to determine whether he died or ran away. His parents were never the same again. Cathy clutched the strap of her purse instead. “You promise?” she whispered and I felt the ache in my chest radiate further out.

  “Yes,” I said. “I promise.”

  “I’m holding you to it,” she said. “I’m sorry, Monty, but I have to hold you to this one. The kids and I—we’re relying on you to get this right.”

  9

  * * *

  THE WALLS OF the Glacier Café in West Glacier were naturally lined with photographs of the park, mostly mountain goats, grizzlies, and big horn sheep. Country music played in the background—some Toby Keith song, which meant TJ was cooking and I’d order the chili. When his wife and co-owner, Carol, cooked, the stew was best.

  “Sit wherever you’d like, Monty,” Carol said, gliding past me with numerous plates precariously balanced on a large tray. She had her frizzy, dishwater-blond hair tucked behind her ear.

  I found my usual spot in the corner and after I ordered, I took out my notes but couldn’t focus. I drank black coffee, fiddled with my spoon, and studied the faces of all the dining tourists. I couldn’t help but weigh the comparative joy in each.

  Most were well sunned and smiling contentedly from a glorious day in the park. A few looked strained and pale—a middle-aged couple dressed like they’d been in an airport all day, both in khakis. I could tell they’d just arrived, hadn’t had time to unwind yet, and they hardly spoke. A day in the park would work wonders; tomorrow their eyes would tell a different story.

  Another woman at the table next to the khaki couple, younger—late twenties maybe, bounced a rosy-cheeked baby sucking on a pacifier on her thigh. Her husband looked content as he spread a map on the side of the table, trying to plan their next day of adventure.

  I thought back to Nathan Faraway’s parents again. I remembered them stricken and pale, Mrs. Faraway clutching Nathan’s dad’s arm as if she couldn’t stand without holding on. The next day was Saturday. I knew we would reopen the trail and it bugged the hell out of me. Cathy’s face kept pushing into my mind, and like a junkie with a one-track mind, I wanted to study that ridge where he fell again for any clue that would put this puzzle together for me. Somehow, for no good reason other than the sorrow I felt spreading in my chest and the curiosity climbing higher in my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Wolfie’s fate was somehow interwoven with mine, and I felt even more deeply compelled to discover the truth of the incident.

  I thought about getting my hands on the crash-test dummy from the Kalispell police force. We called it Jed for reasons unknown to me, but we’d used it once before years back to study a fall pattern of a man from Mount Reynolds who was secured to go on trial against a local and corrupt group of money-laundering bank managers. Officials were suspicious about his death, but could never prove he’d been pushed even with the simulations of Jed.

  But without the autopsy report and nothing suggesting foul play, I was not going to be able to convince Ford to let me keep the trail closed while I experimented with a borrowed dummy on a heavily visited tourist trail. I could just see him shaking his head about my recent training and how it was costing the government more than it was good for.

  I couldn’t stand the thought of not taking one more peek, though. I ate my chili, paid the bill, put away my notes, and grabbed my phone and called Ken. When he answered, I said, “You up for an early drive to the Loop in the morning?”

  When he agreed, I said, “Good. We’ve got one more rappelling trip to perform before we open the trail.”

  • • •

  When I pulled up to my wood-planked dorm with government-green trim Lara was waiting in the driveway in her silver-beige Honda. Dapples of evening sun filtered through the trees and created soft swaying patches of light on her car. When she saw me, she stepped out. “I’d have called, but I knew you’d just silence your phone and let it go to voicemail.” She wore capri jeans, a pink T-shirt, and flip-flops. Sunglasses, no longer needed in the fading light, tucked her short, dark wavy hair back and a few short tendrils of soft, babylike strands fell before her ears. I hadn’t seen her in several weeks. A part of me was annoyed to see her while another part of me instantly softened, weakening as always when she showed her pretty face.

  I walked over, resisted giving her a hug, and waited for her to say more.

  “Aren’t you even going to say ‘hi’?”

  “Hi,” I said. “I’ve been busy the past two days.”

  “Yeah. I read someone fell.”

  “Joe’s having me take care of it all. So”—I flicked my keys and glanced at the green door of my dorm—“why did you come?”

  “I wanted to see you. You’re still my husband, you know.”

  “Lara.” I sighed. “We’ve talked about this. It just makes it harder. Either we’re ending this or not. But neither one of us can go on like this—I can’t—in limbo like this.” After Lara had insisted I move out because she needed space to think and to be alone since I wouldn’t agree to start a family, it was gut-wrenching for both of us, but a huge relief. We’d been fighting over everything, and tension hung in the air, sticky and palpable, with every activity we tried, every conversation we attempted, and each mundane task we did in each other’s company. Just going to Home Depot together became a challenge when she’d inevitably comment on the couple in the next aisle with the toddlers and how happy they looked. The issue was always in the room with us.

  After a few months apart, the tension slowly went away and was less permeating, but the bitterness stayed. I felt betrayed—that she’d changed the landscape of our marriage when she knew how I felt before even getting married and that she’d actually want to move out. I had tried to compromise, suggesting a puppy. Big mistake. Then I even suggested adoption, but she refused, saying that there were no guarantees with the mental health of an adopted baby either, so we might as well just have our own.

  And she felt betrayed by me that I simply wouldn’t budge—that I must not have loved her enough if I wasn’t willing to have a child with her. But the bottom line was that we still cared for each other.

  “I know. I know. But our conversation ended so abruptly and I, I don’t know.” She tilted her head down.“I miss you.”

  I held up my hand for her to stop. I didn’t want her to be angry, but I didn’t want her to be sweet either. I wanted neutral. Unemotional was good. She glanced at the door and I didn’t say anything. If I let her in, I knew where it would lead. The last time she’d gotten all homesick for me, we’d ended up on the couch with her crying and my arms around her until one thing led to the next and we ended up in the bedroom.

  “What?” she asked. “I miss y
ou. Is that a crime?”

  “No. No, it’s not.” I could hear the chickadees singsonging their three languid evening notes from the pine forest to my side, Cheeeeeese Burger. That’s what Ken said they were saying, but Mr. Fit was always thinking about food. “Why don’t you save us all some stress and tell your family that we’ve split up? I don’t want to come to your reunion and put on a fake show.”

  “You don’t have to put on a show.” Lara leaned one hip into the side of her car and crossed her arms, a move I’d seen her do a thousand times throughout the course of our relationship—it was her stubbornness displayed in one familiar stance. “All you have to do is be yourself, Monty. All I’m asking is that we don’t ruin everyone’s good time by dropping this on them at the last minute, especially my parents when they’ve been planning and looking forward to this for a long time—a chance to have the entire family all together at once. It means so much to them.”

  I narrowed my brow, studying her. Suddenly I felt very tired. I raked my fingers through my hair. “Look, Lara, I have a lot of work to do.”

  Her crossed arms stiffened more and she shifted to the other hip, her mouth instantly pouty—another thing I’d seen many times over. “So that’s it? End of discussion just because you’re tired?”

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Do this? What? Talk about our lives?”

  “We’ve talked this to death already. You could have told your family months ago, and it wouldn’t have been last minute and it wouldn’t have been so disappointing to your parents. And as far as us, which, if you ask me, is the bigger, more important topic right now, well, there’s nothing more to say. You’ve had a decision to make, and eventually your indecision becomes your decision.”

  Her mouth hung open in surprise. “Are you telling me that it’s over for you?”

  “I didn’t say that. All I said is that I’m too tired to go over what we’ve already gone over a million times.” I could feel my pulse speed up. Why did I let her do this to me? Make me feel guilty, then do all I could to get back in her good graces. Why couldn’t I just say, Yeah, that’s right; it’s over. I’m tired of this drama? But I wasn’t sure it was over for me. Even though we’d been apart for the better part of a year, I still missed her, and undeniably, we still had chemistry. A part of me considered her my lifeline to normalcy—an anchor to routine and stability, a pathway to a happy family. Lately though, I could feel that ache of being apart from her receding as the months dragged on. I could also feel my anger growing with time. On multiple levels, I felt betrayed.

  She looked strained and glanced toward the woods, the fir trees creating shadows and breathing cool air. I could hear chipmunks, squirrels, and magpies scurrying around in the distance and the chickadees still sang, now even busier. I jangled my keys and looked toward my door again and her gaze followed. “Look, babe, I know you’re tired. Why don’t I come in and make you some dinner. I’ve got some groceries in my car.” She motioned to the back seat. “Pasta? You have olive oil, don’t you?”

  I stared at her without saying a word and sighed. She turned, opened her door, and grabbed a bag of groceries.

  • • •

  We had it ready in twenty minutes. Fresh butternut ravioli with a little olive oil and Parmesan cheese. I made the salad. The entire time we ate I kept telling myself I was not going to let her stay the night.

  “Are you eating well?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, good enough.”

  “You sure? Looks like you’ve dropped a few.”

  I shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “Well, I need to fatten you up a bit before—”

  “Before the reunion.” I shook my head in disappointment.

  “No, well yes, that’s what I was going to say, but I didn’t mean it that way.”

  I put my fork down, pushed my chair back, and walked to the fridge.

  “Monty,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “What way did you mean it?”

  “Just that, that . . .”

  “Um hmm.” I nodded. “That’s what I thought. You’re, you’re just too much,” I said softly.

  “Please, just sit down.” She held her hand up. “I won’t mention it again, I promise.”

  My cell phone rang as she finished her sentence. She dropped her hand back to the table. I looked at the ID and didn’t recognize the number. “Go ahead and answer it,” she said.

  “Monty, this is Ward. Sam Ward.”

  “Sam,” I said, moving to a kitchen cabinet and resting against it, eager to hear why Wolfie’s wolverine-study partner was calling. “What’s up?”

  “First, Pritchard mentioned to you about those sabotaged traps in the South Fork, right?”

  “Yeah, he did. You know something more about that?”

  “No, nothing more. It’s something else, probably nothing, but I just was over visiting Cathy and the kids, and Cathy said something that made me think I should share it with you.”

  “What’s that?” It flashed across my mind that Sam was a close enough friend to be a comfort to Cathy. Against my intuition, I briefly considered whether there was something more between them. I knew how the quest for truth could be a demanding mistress. If Wolfie was that obsessed with his research, it was certainly possible that his wife might confide a little too much in the family friend. I looked at Lara sitting at the table. Her body rounded forward and slumped in sadness. She pushed her food around her plate with agitation, and in that instance, in the collapse of her frame, I knew that I was way off about Cathy Sedgewick. I was just jealous. Cathy’s love for Wolfie was palpable and real, and just because Lara and I had ripped a hole in our marriage and let our stability leak away didn’t mean I had the right to make ridiculous assumptions.

  “Well, it hadn’t occurred to me before but Cathy was saying how Wolfie would never commit suicide, not like that kid last summer.”

  “Kid last summer?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know if you ever heard about it, but we had hired a guy to help us out with setting some traps out the spring before and when we started running low on our budget the following fall, we had to let him go. Sweet guy. Kind of quiet, but a hiking machine. He’d go anywhere we asked through all kinds of weather. Anyway, after we let him go, he was found about two months later, before Christmas, in his apartment. He had OD’d.”

  “I remember reading that in the paper, but I had no idea you guys had hired him.”

  “After it happened, we all felt really bad and Wolfie especially felt awful. He wondered if our letting him go and not having a job had anything to do with his depression.”

  “His name?”

  “Brad. Brad DeMarcus. He was actually the brother of Will, who’s the bartender at the Snow Ghost Bar and Grill in Whitefish.”

  “Oh really?” I thought of the bartender’s joking about the silly drink and the Wild West.

  “Yeah. Anyway, not sure it means anything at all, but thought I should mention it.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Every piece of information helps. I’ll look into it.”

  Lara was looking at me with wide eyes, her head resting on her hand. She had quit fiddling with her food and she didn’t look particularly irritated anymore, so I’m not sure why I felt my anger prickle. “You have to go?” she asked.

  I stared back for a moment. I didn’t have to go anywhere. What Sam had shared was interesting, but nothing urgent. But slowly, I felt myself nod. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  Lara looked at her wineglass, took another sip, then stood and began clearing the table.

  “It’s okay. I can get that later.”

  “No.” She held up her hand. “I’ll get it now. I can let myself out. You can just go if you need to.”

  I went to her and placed my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She bit her lower lip as if she was holding back words and nodded.

  “Okay then,” I said, grabbin
g my keys and leaving through the kitchen door. I had a knot in my stomach that I’d just walked away from her like that, leaving her alone in the place I’d made my own—where I wasn’t married to her—to clean the dinner we’d made together, not to mention that it was the first time I had ever lied to my wife.

  10

  * * *

  ANOTHER SPECTACULAR DAY took shape before Ken and me, and I tried not to dwell on my dissembling with Lara the night before and her pouty face when I left—how I’d gone to the office and looked through Wolfie’s files for any information on Brad DeMarcus, rewatched the surveillance tape capturing Wolfie driving into the park around seven p.m., exactly as Cathy said he would be, then drove by my dorm an hour and a half later to make sure she was gone before going in. When I got ready for bed, I could smell the faint, lingering remains of her flowery perfume in the small bathroom. I tried not to feel guilty about leaving her like that, and finally, after a long period of tossing and turning, I fell to sleep.

  Now, by quarter to eight in the morning on Saturday, the sun was drying the dew and the Loop was already busy with cars passing by to head to the visitor center at the top of the pass. Some stopped to use the restroom and take photos of the view, and one car with two twentysomething women—one blond- and one dark-haired—hopped out and strode up to Ken and me in short jogging shorts and well-toned, tanned legs. The one with a long, dark ponytail looping out of the hole at the base of her cap asked if the trail to Granite Chalet was open.

  “Not from this end yet, but it is from the top.” I pointed up the mountains where Going-to-the-Sun snaked its way narrowly to the visitor center. “From there, you can take the Highline Trail to the chalet. It’s a few miles longer but much more pleasant since it traverses below the Garden Wall and isn’t such a big vertical rise as it is from here.” I knew it was two thousand feet worth of elevation change going up from this point.