Chapter Eighteen
Harper sat on her bed, her feet curled beneath her, staring unseeing at the white wall across from her. The tea she’d brewed had grown cold, and she set the mug down on the bedside table, sighing. She didn’t even like tea. But it always seemed like something that should accompany moments of introspection and deep serenity.
Too bad she hadn’t gotten very far with the former and had failed completely to achieve the latter.
She picked up the remote, clicking on the television and turning it to a news program. The weatherman pointed to a screen as his voice droned on. More snow. More cold. Shocking.
She thought about Lucas out there in the middle of nowhere, snow piled up to the windows of his small cabin as he sat inside alone. Was he lonely? He had to be, didn’t he? He was a human being with absolutely no one in his life. Harper was lonely too, she could admit that. But at least she had friends and community, books, a cell phone, a television to dispel the silence when she needed the illusion of company.
Was that why he’d taken the magazine? To have something to do on those lonely nights in the middle of the woods? She shivered despite being warm and cozy, curled up in a blanket on her bed. Just the thought of the deep isolation he must feel terrified her.
Because she understood it.
Not on the level he must—how could she? But she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t suffered loneliness, the sense that she was adrift, always trying desperately to catch hold of something—anything—that would anchor her. Forever attempting unsuccessfully to recapture what had been ripped from her so suddenly and inexplicably. Comfort. Home. Love. Now…she’d found the car, would be able to bury her parents, and yet she still felt as empty as ever. As lost as ever. As alone. Because what she’d really been attempting to reclaim would not be found in the places she searched.
Did he share the same feelings of loneliness? He’d been abandoned too. Left to fend for himself in ways she probably couldn’t even fathom.
And forget the loneliness—though that in itself seemed, well, catastrophic—how was he going to survive with no way to hunt since his bow and arrows had been taken by the sheriff? She thought back to the hunting knife he’d had strapped to his thigh, the one he’d told her he was going to use to obtain dinner. She’d been struck dumb at the time, and even now, she was disconcerted. What was he going to do? Pounce on an animal and then cut its throat, skin it, debone it, and… She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, realizing she was grimacing, and allowed her muscles to relax. She was no stranger to hunting, but no one she knew wanted to involve themselves in an up-close kill like the one a hunting knife would insist upon.
Come to think of it, what was he going to do now that he had no good hunting weapon and no contact to the outside world since Isaac Driscoll had been killed? He’d told her he had survived before Driscoll and he’d survive now. And that might be true. But what if he did need something? What if he became injured or ill? He may have been isolated before, but now…now he was completely cut off.
What should I do?
Well, you could curse God, I guess. That’s usually my best solution. Do it really loudly and with great outrage.
Does it work?
Not generally. All it does is make me feel really small and useless.
An ant, cursing God from the summit of a blade of grass.
Why did those words sound so familiar ? And why did they seem…more sophisticated than she’d expect from a man who spoke little and had no access to books?
And yet he’d been quoting someone. Or…something. That was why. A book or a poem. She was sure of it. She knew those words somehow. And right after he’d said them, he’d looked as though he wished he hadn’t. He’d quickly changed the subject.
Harper stood, the blanket dropping to the bed. She grabbed her laptop and sat back down, logging in and opening her internet browser, typing the words into the search bar. “I knew it,” she muttered, her heart thrumming. It was one of the more obscure quotes from The Count of Monte Cristo .
Her caveman had quoted Alexandre Dumas.
Her caveman? Not exactly. But…
The caveman had quoted Alexandre Dumas.
She stared at the computer for a moment before closing her eyes. A vague picture of her mother flitted through her mind. Harper was sitting on a bench with her father, and her mother was walking toward them, smiling. Her father said something that made her mother laugh, and she put the turquoise backpack down next to where they sat and kissed him before taking Harper into her arms and asking what they’d brought for lunch.
That turquoise backpack. She’d used it to carry her class notes. Her father had laughingly told her it made her look like one of the high school girls instead of a teacher. An English teacher, who always included her favorite novel as required class reading: The Count of Monte Cristo.
A distant ringing broke through her trance, and she sat upright, her head turning toward the sound. Her cell phone. She stood, feeling somewhat off balance, and hurried to her purse where she’d left it hanging by the door. When she answered, she was slightly breathless.
“Harper, hi. It’s Mark Gallagher.”
“Oh, hi,” she said, walking back to her bed and sitting. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Listen, I’m hoping you can help me with something else.” She heard a noise in the background that sounded like paper rustling and the phone shifting on Agent Gallagher’s ear.
“Yeah, of course. Did you find anything out about those books and the Missoula library?”
“I’m actually going there shortly. I was looking through the entries in Driscoll’s journal, and some don’t make a lot of sense to me.”
“How so?”
“Well, for instance, this one: This morning I spotted the white-tailed deer eating raw fish at the river. Seems he is a natural survivor in that he will eat what is necessary to live, whether distasteful or no. ”
Harper frowned. “A deer eating fish?”
“That’s what I’m confused about. I did a simple Google search, and I couldn’t find anything that said deer eat fish.”
“No, they’re herbivores,” she said, as confused as Agent Gallagher.
“What about in extreme cases like…famine or an extra-long winter, something of that nature?”
Harper chewed at her lip for a moment. “An animal will eat anything if it’s starving, but how in the world would a deer catch a fish?”
“Maybe it was already dead, lying on the riverbank?”
“That’d have to be the case, I guess.”
“So, if a deer were starving and it found a dead fish on the riverbank, it might eat it.”
“Animals will do what they have to do to survive. Yes. But in general, no, deer don’t eat fish.”
“Okay, I wanted to double-check with you. I’m still making my way through this thing, but it’s…odd. It almost appears as if Driscoll was watching one specific possum, one specific deer, and one specific wolf.”
“Why would he do that? And how would he know it was the same one?”
“I have no idea. If anything comes to you, will you let me know?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Harper.”
“You’re welcome. Any news yet?” she asked, knowing she didn’t have to specify what she was asking about.
“Not yet. They’re a little bit backed up, but I’m hoping for something by tomorrow morning. Then they’ll be able to release the remains so you can make arrangements.”
Harper was quiet for a moment as she digested that. It was what she’d hoped for, for so long—the ability to lay her parents to rest—but the impending reality caused a lump to form in her throat. She needed to start thinking about burial or cremation and how she’d pay for whichever she chose. She needed to begin making calls and arrangements, but all she wanted to do was stay buried under a blanket on her bed, drinking tea she didn’t like.
“Harper? You there?”
“Yes, sorry. Um, I was also wondering if anything was found in the car or in the trunk? Specifically, a turquoise backpack? It was my mother’s, and she always threw it in her trunk after classes were out.” They’d taken her mother’s SUV that night because the roads were icy and her mother’s vehicle had brand-new tires. Harper remembered that because she liked riding in the take-home sheriff’s car her dad drove and had complained that they weren’t in it that evening. The last car ride she’d ever take with her parents and she’d whined and sulked about everything that evening. She remembered that. To her great regret and shame.
“No. There was nothing in the trunk except a disintegrated blanket.”
Harper frowned. It was possible her mother had left her backpack somewhere else, but that damn quote kept pricking at her mind.
“Okay, thanks. Agent Gallagher, can I ask if there’s an update on the forensics on that bow and the arrows taken from Lucas? If you can’t tell me, I understand—”
“Traces of blood were found on all the arrows that belong to him, but it’s all animal blood. No human matter at all. And none of his DNA is on either arrow used in the murders.”
Harper let out a slow breath. She felt a little odd about the sudden rush of relief, but she couldn’t deny it. Something inside her was rooting for him. Not only that, but she couldn’t see him as a murderer. He’d practically pushed her out of the way to provide assistance to a den of baby foxes, for God’s sake. She’d never once felt afraid, and he hadn’t taken advantage of her even though she’d slept so hard under his roof that she barely knew her own name when she’d woken up. Oh, and there had been drool… Please, God, don’t let him have seen the drool.
“There also doesn’t appear to be any of Lucas’s DNA at the bed-and-breakfast crime scene either. A few prints at Driscoll’s belong to him, but that was expected since he’d been there over the years. None were found in the bedroom where the murder occurred.”
Harper released another slow breath. “So he’s no longer a person of interest?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that. But…we have nothing to tie him to either crime at this point.”
“Have you found out anything about his background?”
“No, but I have to be honest, I don’t have anything to go on. Lucas doesn’t appear to want to find out anything about his background, and solving the murders has to be my first priority. I’m going to dig more once I have the chance, but for now, finding out about Driscoll’s background comes first.”
Harper had stood as he’d answered her question, and now she paced once in front of her bed. “The thing is,” she said, turning and pacing in the other direction, “I’ve been wondering what Lucas is doing on his own now that Driscoll is dead and he doesn’t have any access to the outside world.”
“That’s not entirely true. He has legs. He could walk to town if he chose to. Hell, he could move if he chose to. In fact, if Driscoll didn’t have a will that left that house to Lucas, then he might be forced to do so.”
“Walk to town? In the snow and ice?” Harper asked, the barest bit of outrage seeping into her tone.
“I have a feeling Lucas is used to the snow and ice.”
She couldn’t disagree with that. “Okay, but there’s no way he can have any money. He traded with Driscoll using fish and animal skins. What if I at least took him some provisions until he gets his bow and arrows back and…and…things are clearer as far as his living situation?”
“Harper…listen, I’m not your father”—there was a strange catch in his voice and a slight pause before he cleared his throat and continued—“but you don’t know Lucas. And to go out to his house alone doesn’t seem like the wisest choice for a woman on her own. I understand why you did it once, but maybe repeating it should be avoided.”
Harper stopped pacing, sitting back down on the bed. “Okay.”
“Why do I sense that your okay doesn’t mean what I think it means?”
Despite herself, Harper blew out a small laugh. “I appreciate you keeping me updated on the case. Any idea when you might want to look for those map markers?”
“The sooner the better, but the weather forecast doesn’t look promising. They’re saying a storm’s moving in.”
“Just let me know then, okay?”
“I will. And, Harper, please take my words under advisement.”
“I will. I promise.”
They said goodbye, and Harper hung up, tossing her phone next to her on the bed. They’re saying a storm’s moving in…
She did take Agent Gallagher’s words under advisement. She respected him. She liked him. She appreciated that he’d shared information he didn’t have to with her and that he cared about helping her with her situation too—a situation that wasn’t even part of the reason he was in Helena Springs. He obviously cared about her safety, and after a lifetime of not having a father figure, his concern was a balm to her soul. But…but…he hadn’t spent a night and a day with Lucas. He hadn’t had time to develop a sense of the man’s…goodness.
She wished she could call Lucas and thank him for what he’d done for her—not only led her to her parents’ car but helped her find the closure she’d been searching for since that snowy night when she was a child. She wished she could call and ask him if he needed anything now that he was totally alone—a ride to town, some food or water…matches… She wished she had some way to repay the favor he’d done for her, but she couldn’t ask him without going in person.
Harper glanced outside her window at the darkening clouds. I understand why you did it once, but maybe repeating it should be avoided. She understood Mark’s logic, but she needed to answer her heart’s call. If she was going to gather some items and make the drive to Lucas’s, she didn’t have a lot of time to stand around waffling.
She hesitated only another moment before grabbing her coat, hat, and gloves; pulling on her boots; and heading for the door.