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“Apparently, it doesn’t exist-at least not yet,” Da
“Of course I know he’s nuts, Daniel!” the cook cried. “Poor Pedro was just so convinced-he made it sound plausible.”
That Saturday night before the Christmas break-the last night that Patrice would be Patrice-Da
“You may say you have a couple of beers, and one or two glasses of red wine with your di
“I didn’t know you were counting for me, Ketchum.”
“Don’t be like that, Da
Ketchum had complained about Da
“But wine makes you sleepy, doesn’t it, Da
“Mountains of moose shit-as you would say, Ketchum,” Da
That was just the way they did things in Toronto, the cook and his son explained to the veteran river driver. Da
“It’s the red wine that troubles me a bit, Da
“If I drink only beer, I’m awake all night,” Da
“I like the sound of that a little better,” was all the woodsman had said.
But the red wine wasn’t really the problem. Yes, Da
THE COWBOY HAD FOLLOWED Ketchum before, but Carl was none the wiser for it. The retired deputy had twice trailed the logger on his hunting trips to Quebec; Carl had even tracked Ketchum all the way to Pointe au Baril Station one winter, only to assume that the younger man the old woodsman was camping with was just some Ontario hick. The cowboy had no idea who Da
One word would change everything-the word and the fact that both Ketchum and the cowboy did their tire business at the same establishment in Milan. Tires, especially winter tires, were important in northern New Hampshire. Twitchell’s was the name of the tire place that Ketchum and the cowboy frequented, though the grease monkey who did the important talking was a young Canuck named Croteau.
“That looks like Ketchum’s rig,” Carl had said to the French Canadian-this was a week or more before Christmas, and the cowboy had noticed Ketchum’s truck on the hoist in the garage at Twitchell’s. Croteau was changing all four tires.
“Yup,” Croteau said. The retired deputy observed that the Canuck was removing Ketchum’s studded tires and replacing them with un-studded snow tires.
“Does Ketchum have an inside tip that it’s go
“Nope,” Croteau said. “He just don’t like the sound of the studs on the interstate, and it’s mostly interstates between here and Toronto.”
“ Toronto,” the cowboy repeated, but that wasn’t the word that would change everything.
“Ketchum puts the studded tires back on when he comes home after Christmas,” Croteau explained to the deputy, “but you don’t need studs for highway drivin’-out on the interstates, regular snow tires will do.”
“Ketchum goes to Toronto for Christmas?” Carl asked the Canuck.
“For as long as I can remember,” Croteau said, which wasn’t very long-not in the cowboy’s estimation. Croteau was in his early twenties; he’d been changing tires only since he got out of high school.
“Does Ketchum have some lady friend in Toronto?” Carl asked. “Or a boyfriend, maybe?”
“Nope,” Croteau replied. “Ketchum said he’s got family there.”
It was the family word that would change everything. The deputy sheriff knew that Ketchum didn’t have a family-not in Canada, anyway. And what family he’d had, the old logger had lost; everyone knew that Ketchum was estranged from his children. Ketchum’s kids were still living in New Hampshire, Carl knew. Ketchum’s children were grown up now, with kids of their own, but they had never moved away from Coos County; they’d just cut their ties to Ketchum.
“Ketchum can’t have any family in Toronto,” the cowboy told the dumb Canuck.
“Well, that’s what Ketchum said-he’s got family there, in Toronto,” Croteau insisted stubbornly.
Later, Da
The cowboy knew how to stake out the house on Cluny Drive, too. It wasn’t long before he was familiar with all of their comings and goings, including Ketchum’s. Of course the cowboy was aware that Ketchum was just visiting. While Carl must have been tempted to kill all three of them, the deputy probably didn’t want to risk going up against the old logger; Carl knew that Ketchum was armed. The house on Cluny Drive was never locked during the day, or at night, either-not until after the last of them, usually the cook, had limped home to go to bed.
It had been easy for the cowboy to get inside and have a good look at the house; that way, Carl knew who was sleeping in each room. But there was more that he didn’t know.
The only gun in the house was the one in the guest bedroom, where it was clear to Carl that Ketchum was staying. The cowboy thought it was an odd gun, or at least an unsophisticated weapon, for Ketchum to be carrying-a youth-model Winchester 20-gauge. (A friggin’ kid’s shotgun, Carl was thinking.)
How could the deputy have known that the Winchester Ranger was Ketchum’s Christmas present for Da