A Superior Death

Still, in A

A figure, humpbacked like a forest gnome, appeared on the trail at the far end of the lake. “That’ll be Jo,” A

“Shh,” Stanton returned. “Sound carries across water.”

His oversized face was hard with concentration. The angles of his usually gawky body were knifelike.

The distant figure disappeared into the trees. Frederick and A

Twenty minutes passed. The lake was absolutely still, a perfect mirror. Across the water, two backpackers had dumped their gear against a tree and were wading in the shallows. Muted, indecipherable, their conversation floated up to the bluff. A crunching from the trail: footsteps. With no more warning than that, Jo Castle walked into the clearing.

“Hi.” She seemed unsurprised and disinterested, as if most evenings law enforcement agents were waiting in camp for her.

A

Jo dropped the pack with a thud. It weighed close to a hundred pounds.

“I’m Frederick Stanton,” the FBI man said. He moved easily between Jo and the pack. Officer safety. “We talked a week or so ago.”

“I remember.” Jo looked around as if for a place to sit, didn’t see one and lost interest. “Do you guys want coffee or something?”

“Nothing,” Stanton said as she moved toward the tent. “We came to talk with you about the death of your husband.”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Jo? Sit here by me.” A

Stanton waited, letting the sarcasm clear from the air. “When did your husband die, Mrs. Castle?” It was not so much a question as a demand for information. Irritation nibbled at A

“When?” he repeated.

“A

“Not when did you hear, Mrs. Castle,” Stanton pressed. “When did he die?”

Jo turned to A

“He died on June seventeenth. Four days before the body was found. Five days before you were notified.”

Jo raised her chin slightly, her face set and stubborn.

“You must have known your husband was missing. You were just married, on your honeymoon, your husband disappeared and you didn’t report it. I mean to find out why.” Stanton waited perhaps ten seconds after the end of the speech, then pointed a long finger at Jo. “Break camp. Come in for questioning. Pilcher’s office, eight a.m. tomorrow.” He dropped his arm, turned, and marched down the trail toward Moskey Basin and the Belle Isle.

“What an asshole!” A

Jo rose to her feet. The defiance had gone with Stanton’s departure. She looked tired to the point of exhaustion. “I can’t break camp now,” she said wearily. “I’m in the middle of things. It’ll shoot weeks of work. God!” She crumpled down, legs crossed tailor-fashion, and hid her face in her hands.

“Why didn’t you report De

Jo didn’t look, didn’t take her hands from her eyes. “I thought he was with Do

A

“Don’t break camp quite yet,” A

“Thanks. Work is what I’ve got now. It’s got to be right.”

She left Jo still sitting in the dirt hiding her face from her memories.

A

“Jesus!”

“Interesting,” Frederick remarked. He levered himself up. “Sounded pretty convincing to me. What a drag. I knew there was a reason I’ve never married. I mean other than nobody’s ever asked me.”

A

She struck off down the trail at a good clip, hoping to walk away from Stanton and his bag of tricks. Muttering and fussing, he bumbled along behind. Several times he turned on his idle chatter, the stuff A

In less than an hour they reached the shoreline of Moskey. Seven p.m. and the shadows had yet to grow long. The Belle Isle sat quietly at the dock. The basin was still. A cold breeze from the lake shivered the grass near the tree line. Covering the finger of land between Moskey and Superior was a curtain of white fog.

A green fiberglass canoe was beached down from the dock, and a thin line of smoke, the color of the mist, curled up from the fire pit in front of the lean-to shelter. It pleased A

The shelter door opened and a woman in a sweatshirt with a red hood stepped out. Blond hair frizzed, making a halo around her face. “Tinker!” A

Stanton came up behind her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. The chill of the fog had reached the shore and the sensation would have been pleasant if A

“Friends?” Stanton asked, then: “Oh, it’s your Ca

“You wait in the boat,” A

“I thought it must be you when I saw the Belle,” Tinker said as A

“Visiting Jo,” A

“Ah,” Tinker said apropos of nothing, and: “Okay, okay.” She went into the shelter. A moment later she reappeared with the stuffed bear in her hands and put him down on the table near A