The Gray Drake Read online

  This isn’t going anywhere, but I’ve got to start somewhere.

  “Can you give me a list of who was here at the auction?”

  “This desk has been here since the lodge was built.” Wes rummaged through his desk. Finally, he pulled out three sheets of paper and handed them to Burr.

  There were about two hundred names on the list. I won’t get through this in my lifetime.

  “I suppose you’ll want to know who else was there. The waitresses. The kitchen help. The string quartet.”

  “The string quartet?”

  “They were quite good. And I suppose you’ll want a list of the guides.”

  This will take two lifetimes. “Can you help me narrow this down?”

  “The Gray Drake is a legend, but it’s not the money-maker everyone thinks it is. It’s old, a little rundown, and it always needs money. We all grew up here. Me. Lizzie. Now Josh.”

  Wes picked up his reading glasses and tapped them on his desk. “I know I shouldn’t have sent you that Sage, but I should have some money by the end of the season.”

  Too many suspects and no money. He scratched Zeke’s ear.

  Wes tapped his glasses again and looked over Burr’s shoulder. “Now they’re both there. The grosbeaks.”

  Burr turned around, and the birds flew off.

  * * *

  Burr and Zeke headed for the North Branch. He had a list of the guests, the help, the guides, and no check. He needed to talk to Lizzie, and he was still hoping to get a check from her.

  They drove through jack pine, then into aspen, and as they neared the river, hardwoods. Burr stopped three times to look at the directions Wes had scribbled in the margin of the day’s menu. Burr had gotten turned around twice. He turned onto a gravel road. Then another, and another. Each one narrower and more rutted than the last. Finally, he turned on a two-track. A quarter mile later, the two-track turned south, and he found a driveway and a sign that read Hemlock. He drove another hundred yards and parked in front of a log cabin, but not just any log cabin. This one stood two stories. It had fresh chinking and a cedar shake roof.

  They walked up to the house. Burr knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. And again. He reached down to scratch Zeke and found him sniffing an English setter, perhaps the most beautiful English setter he had ever seen. A tri-color. Black, chestnut and white. She had a black patch on her left ear, and long feathers on her legs and tail. The setter barked at him. “It’s all right, girl.” He bent down, and she came up to him. He scratched her ear, and she wagged her tail.

  “You must be Cassie.”

  She ignored him and trotted off, around the side of the house. Zeke, smitten, followed, as did Burr, equally smitten. They found Lizzie sitting in an Adirondack chair looking at the river, her back to them.

  “Cassie, where’d you go?”

  “She was with us.”

  Lizzie jumped up. “My God, you scared me.”

  Burr walked past her to the river. The cabin had been built on a bend, a soft curve from south to east. The bank was about ten-feet high. Half-log stairs ran down to a dock. An Au Sable riverboat was tied to the downriver side of the dock. “There should be two boats,” Lizzie said, “but one of Starkweather’s deputies took Traveler. I think I told you that.”

  Burr looked out at the river. There were fish rising to flies in a pool just downstream.

  “Those are caddis coming off,” Lizzie said. “They come off most of the summer.”

  Burr nodded knowingly.

  “It’s a little early for them.”

  Burr thought there was a sad quality in her voice, as if what mattered when Quinn was alive didn’t matter now. He nodded again. He looked over her shoulder at the cabin behind her. Two-story, plate-glass windows that faced the river. Lizzie joined him on the bank.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Business must be good at The Gray Drake,” Burr said.

  “Quinn’s father is a generous man, although he never understood why we wanted to live on the North Branch. Quinn wanted to be here because it’s out of the way. Away from everything. The fish are a little smaller, but they’re all wild. There are big brookies and a few bigger browns. And the aluminum hatch doesn’t really get this far north.”

  “Aluminum hatch?”

  “Canoes. I love this place, and so does Josh, but I don’t see how we can stay out here by ourselves.”

  “Where exactly are we?”

  “Between Lovells and Jackson Hole. Closer to Lovells.”

  “It was generous of your father-in-law to post your bail,” Burr said.

  “Guides don’t get rich. Or cooks.”

  “How did he get his money?”

  “Banking.”

  “He’s a banker?”

  “His family started it. Now he owns it.”

  “Which one?”

  “Peoples State Bank. It’s the only bank in Hamtramck. It’s Polish, and the Poles pay their loans on time,” Lizzie said.

  Burr kicked a stick into the river. He watched the current take it downstream. He heard a splash, and there was Zeke chasing the stick. Cassie watched from the bank. The stick turned around and around in an eddy. The current caught it again and took it downstream, Zeke still after it.

  “Zeke. Come!” Burr watched the dog swim downstream after the stick.

  “I suppose this isn’t a social call,” she said.

  “It would have been helpful if you’d told me what happened at the Two Track.” Burr turned back to Zeke. “He doesn’t know a thing about currents.” The dog had the stick in his mouth and was trying to swim upstream, but he was falling further and further downstream. That dog is going to get himself up against a snag and drown.

  Burr started downstream. “Zeke, drop.” The dog kept swimming, but he kept slipping further downstream. Burr ran along the edge of the river, his boots splashing. Zeke’s head went underwater. He came up with a stick in his mouth, then went down again. Burr waded into the river after him. Zeke came up again. He turned downstream with the current and then to shore. Burr climbed out of the river. Zeke climbed out, shook himself off, ran up to Burr, and presented him the stick. Burr and Zeke followed Lizzie to the deck behind the cabin.

  “Feet wet?”

  Burr looked down at his feet. There were puddles around his shoes. How am I going to figure out what happened if I can’t even keep my feet dry?

  “It didn’t take Zeke long to figure out the river.”

  “What about Quinn?” Burr said.

  “It must have been an accident. I don’t know how it could have happened, but it did. Quinn loved the river. He was the best fisherman I ever met, and he was far and away the best guide. He knew the river. He knew the hatches, and he knew where the fish were.”

  “Why does Cullen think you killed Quinn?”

  “I’ve got to check on the chowder.” She handed Burr a towel, opened the sliding glass doors and walked into the house, Cassie at her heels.

  Burr dried off Zeke, wiped his boots on the mat and the two of them followed Lizzie and Cassie inside. Lizzie walked through the dining room, past a butcher-block bar and into the kitchen. She stopped at a massive stove, took the top off a soup pot, and stirred whatever was in it. Cassie lay down at Lizzie’s feet. The pot smelled like rosemary and basil.

  That’s an Aga. Then out loud, “There’s another thing that cost more than my Jeep.”

  Lizzie turned to Burr, spoon in hand. “What did you say?”

  “That’s a very nice stove,” Burr said.

  “It’s an Aga.”

  Not only did it cost more than my Jeep, it’s bigger.

  “This is just about ready. It’s fish chowder, Manhattan style. Would you like some?”

  “I would.”

  “It needs a few more minutes and a li
ttle more basil.” She took a step to the cupboard, but tripped over Cassie. “She’s been underfoot ever since Quinn’s been gone.”

  “And she was with Quinn that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did she get back?”

  Lizzie looked at him. “She showed up at the lodge late the next night. She was dirty, worn out and upset.”

  Burr looked down at the setter. “So she knows what happened.”

  “I guess she does.”

  “If only she could talk.”

  “Quinn said she always knew which holes had fish in them. That’s why he called her Cassie. Short for Cassandra, in Greek mythology. Now all she does is bark.” Lizzie reached into the cupboard and took out a jar of basil. “Cassandra could see into the future.” Lizzie unscrewed the top and shook some of the spice into the chowder. She stirred, then sipped a spoonful. “A little more rosemary, I think.” Two shakes of rosemary later, “It’s Josh’s favorite.” She stirred the spices into the chowder.

  “Where is Josh?”

  “Quinn’s father’s house.”

  Burr walked up to the maple bar and sat on a stool. “The question isn’t whether or not Quinn drowned. The question is, was it an accident or was it murder?”

  “It was an accident. It must have been.”

  “That’s not what Cullen thinks.”

  “Let’s start at the auction,” Burr said. “Did anything happen? Was anyone mad at Quinn? Did he fight with anyone?”

  She stopped stirring. “No. Not that I know of. But I was in and out of the kitchen all night. I didn’t see everything. I have no idea who would want to kill him.” She looked at Burr. “I don’t know what happened, and I need you to help me.”

  Burr looked down at the butcher block, the grain swirled and twisted. “All right then, what happened at the auction? Who bid on Quinn’s trip?”

  “Five or six guys, I think.”

  “Do you remember who they were?”

  “A judge. A car guy. Three or four oil men. Quinn’s dad.”

  “Who was the high bidder?”

  Lizzie filled a mug with the chowder and handed it to Burr. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

  Burr sipped and burned his tongue. “Too late,” he said. He stirred his chowder. “Who was the high bidder?” Burr said again.

  “Who won?” Lizzie chewed her lip. “Harley. He outbid Thompson.”

  “Harley?”

  “Harley Hawken. He’s an oil man from Traverse City.”

  “How much did he pay?”

  “Twelve thousand.”

  “Dollars?”

  “It was for charity.” Lizzie got a mug out for herself.

  “Who is Harley?”

  “He made a lot of money in the Niagran.”

  “The Niagran?”

  “It’s a geologic formation around here. They’re all around and they’re full of oil. My father raises money to protect the river. Partly from drilling.”

  “Isn’t it a bit ironic that an oil man would bid at an auction that would make it harder for him to drill for oil?”

  “Quinn wasn’t just any guide.” Lizzie sipped on her chowder. “And it wasn’t just any guided trip. It was the Hex hatch.”

  Burr took a spoonful of the chowder. It was full of tomatoes and spice. He blew on it, then slurped it off the spoon. This was worth the drive. He took a deep breath, “What did you do after the auction?”

  “The auction ended about ten-thirty. Quinn was all wound up, and the hatch was on. So he wanted to fish it. I said I’d put Josh to bed, and my father would keep an eye on him until we got back to the lodge when he was done.”

  “What about the Two Track?” Burr said.

  “We let him stay up for the auction. It usually takes a long time to get Josh to go to sleep. Stories, songs, prayers. He was wound up, but he fell right asleep. So I left. I saw the truck parked at the Two Track. Quinn was sitting over in the corner with that woman. When Quinn saw me come in, he got up and left. I followed him to Chase Bridge, and we launched the boat. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

  “I can’t help you if you lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Potter said you fought with that woman at the Two Track.”

  “He’s exaggerating.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t like us. He thinks we look down on him.”

  “Is that a good enough reason to say what he said?”

  “Burr, please help me. I’m not lying.”

  Burr wasn’t so sure. “Who was that woman?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Had you ever seen her before?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I don’t remember seeing her until that night, but there’s always people coming and going at the lodge. Especially at the auction.”

  “Did you ask Quinn about her?”

  “I asked him at the river.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he’d tell me later.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was mad. I slapped him.”

  “You slapped him?”

  “It was the last thing I ever did.” She paused. “He said there were things I didn’t know, and he’d tell me later.”

  Burr didn’t know whether to believe her or not.

  “After I was done moving the trailer, I went back to the lodge. That’s when Joe Gleason saw me.” She reached down and petted Cassie.

  Burr stirred his chowder again. He came up with a chunk of fish.

  “It’s brook trout,” she said.

  “Brook trout? In fish chowder?” Burr cocked his head to the side.

  “Quinn kept a fish every once in a while. He said fishing was a blood sport.”

  * * *

  Burr followed Lizzie to Thompson Shepherd’s house on the South Branch. She had to pick up Josh, and Burr thought this was a foolproof way to find Thompson’s house without getting lost. This was as good a time as any to ask Shepherd for a check. After all, Thompson Shepherd was a generous man.

  They pulled into a circle drive. A fair stone maiden poured water from an urn into a stone fountain in front of the senior Shepherd’s house. Behind the driveway, a two-story log home stood among sixty-foot white pines.

  Burr left Zeke in the Jeep and followed Lizzie and Cassie up a brick path to a courtyard. The house had two wings angled away from the river and connected by a great room.

  Lizzie knocked.

  Thompson Shepherd opened the door.

  Cassie barked at him.

  “I’m sorry, Thompson. She’s still not right.”

  “I know. I’ll get Joshua.”

  He came back holding Josh by the hand. The boy ran to his mother and hugged her around her legs. Cassie barked again, then licked Josh on the face.

  “Mr. Lafayette wants to talk with grandpa for a few minutes.”

  Josh looked back at his grandfather. “Bye, Grandpa.”

  “Goodbye, Joshua.” The elder Shepherd nodded at Burr. “Please come in.”

  Burr walked into the foyer—slate flooring and hardwood paneling. Shepherd led him through the great room.

  “Let’s go down to the river.” Burr followed Shepherd to a dock with a boathouse.

  “Please sit down,” Shepherd said.

  Burr sat. He heard the river rushing underneath him.

  “I generally don’t like surprises, but I’m sure you have a good reason for showing up unannounced.”

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but I need some help.”

  Shepherd looked at the river, then back at Burr. “Quinn’s mother died twenty-five years ago. I lost my only son. Joshua and Lizzie are all
I have left.”

  “Do you think it was an accident?”

  Shepherd looked back to the house again. “Joshua doesn’t understand that Quinn is never coming back. Excuse me for a moment.” He swatted at a mosquito, then disappeared into the boathouse that wasn’t just any boathouse. Burr had seen plenty of houses that were smaller and not nearly as well done.

  Shepherd returned with two cigars. He offered one to Burr, who declined. Shepherd sat back down, unwrapped a cigar and cut off the end. He rolled it around in his mouth, then lit it. Shepherd sucked on the cigar, blew the smoke out, then waved the cigar around him.

  “Best mosquito repellent there is,” Shepherd said. “But it’s an expensive use of a Cuban cigar. Quinn was so at home on the river, I don’t see how he could have drowned.” Shepherd blew out a mouthful of smoke.

  “Frankly, Mr. Shepherd, I need a few suspects.” Burr coughed and waved the smoke away from his face. He thought he’d rather swat mosquitoes than choke on cigar smoke.

  “Everyone loved Quinn.” Shepherd pointed at a riffle on the near bank. “Look out there, Mr. Lafayette. Those are caddis coming off. It’s mostly blue wings here, but we do have some caddis.”

  Why does everyone give me a lesson in entomology?

  “Quinn and I fished that riffle every year.” Shepherd paused. “We’ll never do that again.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Shepherd.”

  “I must say, though, Cullen was persuasive.”

  “That’s exactly why I need a suspect or two.”

  “If I thought Lizzie killed Quinn, I don’t know what I would do. Joshua needs at least one parent.”

  “Who do you think might have killed Quinn?”

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea.”

  This isn’t going anywhere.

  “Mr. Shepherd, I need to find a suspect or two, someone who might have killed Quinn. That’s why I’d like you to help pay for Lizzie’s defense.”

  Shepherd sucked on his cigar again. Burr looked down at his slacks and watched a mosquito trying to sting him, right where the crease should have been.

  Shepherd blew out more smoke. Burr slapped at the mosquito on his pants.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next afternoon Burr napped in the cockpit of Spindrift. The wind blew from the northwest at about fifteen knots, but the old cutter rode quietly on her mooring, sheltered by the bluffs. As luck would have it, the wind was coming from the direction of the late afternoon sun, and Burr, with his head at the cabin end of the cockpit, slept with his head in the shade. Zeke snored on the cockpit sole.