A Superior Death

A

“It’s me, A

“Had a rough night.” The sounds of crockery and metal rattled behind Molly’s words.

“Making coffee?” A

“Second pot.” There was a clicking on the line. “Hold,” Molly said. “I’m expecting another call.” She was back within seconds. “False alarm. Nobody there. Phone must be acting up.”

“Migraine?” A

“No. That’s for later if this clenched feeling behind my eyes means anything. I lost a patient last night. I thought you might be the police. Lots of questions. I’ve got answers that satisfy them. None that satisfy me.”

“Suicide?” A

“Not exactly. At least I doubt that was the primary motivation. Remember my crazy co

“The disgruntled food writer?”

“Him. He climbed the outside of a three-story building in Brooklyn Heights last night. The man is-was-in his late fifties with the figure of a confirmed food worshiper. He hadn’t climbed more than stairs in the past ten years and never those if there was an elevator nearby.”

“Jumped?”

“The police thought jumped at first, but he fell. All the windows were locked on the inside. He had to have climbed up.”

“Do you know why? I mean, did he live there or something?”

“No. He was trying to get to the food lab and kitchens of his rival. I think he figured if he could get in, he could find something to prove the Great Discovery was a hoax.”

“Jesus,” A

“Not this man. I should have seen it coming. The obsessions amused me, A

“I’m sorry,” was all A

Again there was a clicking on the line. This time it was another call: the hospital where Molly’s client had been taken. Molly rang off abruptly, leaving A

Like what? A

A

When she looked up from the phone, Patience was standing in the hall between the living room and the bath. Her face was twisted, as though she couldn’t decide whether to come ahead into the front room or retreat back to the bedroom.

“It’s all right,” A

Patience gave her a hard look, angry-or so it seemed through the medium of a hangover.

“I used my credit card,” A

The look faded and was replaced by Patience’s usual dry smile. “I’m not worried,” she said lightly. “I know where you live. Carrie!” she called back down the hall.

Carrie A

As Patience herded her daughter into a morning blanked with fog, A

TWENTY FIVE

Fog seemed to penetrate everything, obscure everything. Motoring slowly down the cha

Another boat loomed suddenly out of the fog behind and just barely to the port of the Belle Isle. A

The other vessel pulled alongside and A

He cut power, clearly wanting a word. A

“Hey, Scotty, what’s up?” A

“Just routine. Bound to be some fender benders in this stuff. I’ll be sticking pretty close to Rock today.”

A

Something was different about Scotty. As usual, his shirt was crisply pressed and his boots shiny. It was the set of his shoulders, the cock of his head that was different, A

“Yup.” Scotty narrowed his eyes against a nonexistent sun and stared into a nonexistent distance. “It’s one hell of a day to be left with half a damn island to look after.” Putting a booted foot on the gunwale, he leaned his elbow on his knee. He would have looked right at home in Texas. A

Butkus was waiting for her to ask him why he was in charge of half the island but she wasn’t going to do it. He cracked before she did. “I don’t mind being Acting District Ranger,” he continued. “Hell, I’m used to that. But they don’t pay me enough to be Acting Chief Ranger.”

So that was it. Scotty was in pig heaven: both Ralph and Lucas were off duty. “Where is everybody?”

“Right. I forget. Hidden away over there on Amygdaloid, you miss out. Backcountry Management Group meeting. Be out till tomorrow.”

Several times a season Lucas, Ralph, Marilyn-the Chief Naturalist-and Lyle, the head of Roads and Trails, spent three days in the backcountry camping and hashing out wilderness-management issues.