Chapter X
Thursday, December 19, 2002 – 10:25 a.m.
“Good morning. Markle, Regan & Walsh.”
“Hi. I’m trying to reach Roger Carson.”
“One moment, please.” Jed was placed briefly on hold. Then a new female voice, this one somewhat older and carrying a haughty, british accent, came on.
“Mr. Carson’s office. May I help you?”
“Hi. My name’s Jed Inverness. I need to speak with Roger.”
“Does he know why you’re calling?”
“No. I’m a neighbor of his. I need a little legal advice.”
Jed felt completely exhausted as he and Eli climbed into his chilly pickup truck. It was quite late, and he made no effort to suppress an unhappy yawn as he put on his belt and Eli snapped in next to him. Because of what Eli had said about going away, he was dreading the ride home.
The truck started like a charm and the big V-8 rumbled reassuringly as he backed out of his parking spot and headed toward the exit. He found its sound comforting; it afforded a sense of normalcy that had been absent the entire evening.
When Jed introduced himself to Dr. Cook’s receptionist, a short, heavy-set brunette in her late 20’s with an honest-to-God native Virginian accent, she wasted no time in telling him to come around to the back; clearly, she had been told to keep her eyes peeled for him. Once again he entered the back area, but this time they passed the exam room from the night before and she took him to the left down the hallway toward a door at the end.
Katie was in the kitchen flouring a bundt pan for her Christmas rum cake when the knock came at the side door. She glanced at the clock radio hanging under the cabinet in the corner nook, which told her that it was 7:15 p.m. as it began to play Burl Ives’ “A Holly Jolly Christmas.” She wiped her hands on her apron, went to the door, and peered out through the sheers at the figures on the concrete stoop: Jed and Eli. She gave them a surprised smile, threw back the deadbolt, and swung open the door.
“Hello, Jed—and Eli, too. Come in, come in. Quick, before you get cold.”
“Eli . . . Eli, honey—don’t worry, I won’t be afraid. I won’t run away.” He said the words, but was not sure he believed them; yet, now there was no room for doubt. He hugged her. “I just—I didn’t understand, and I still don’t, but—what I said is true . . . I do love you.”
“I’ll leave if you want. If you can’t handle all of this.” She began to sob softly into his coat.
Jed and Eli stood in the boy’s clothing aisle. They were shopping at Wal-Mart, which was not, to Jed’s way of thinking, much of an improvement over K-Mart. He pulled a sweatshirt off the shelf and checked the tag. “Here’s a medium. Are you sure you don’t like red?”
“No—the blue is fine.” She opened up the one she was holding and held it against her chest. “This’ll work.”
He looked at her, nonplussed. “But it’s just like the one you got on. Don’t you want a little variety?”
“No. Jag gillar blå.”
“What?”
Eli opened the door of the cabin as quietly as she could and returned the galoshes to their place on the mud mat. She slipped Jed’s socks back on as she listened for movement, but there was none. He was still asleep.
She emerged from a heavy blackness that had seemed like forever and opened her eyes. Did not know where she was, but—it was not where she had been before. She had been outside; she remembered that much. And now she had been moved to . . .
--a room. In a bed. She was warm in the bed.
A man was sitting beside her. He was lightly touching her hand. He was looking at her hand, not her face.
Fear of the unknown seized her, counterbalanced only by his calm, concerned look. He was not trying to hurt her. He was . . . worried about her.
It was near dusk and he had waited only 45 minutes when the doe stepped into view from behind a screen of heavy scrub and saplings about 175 yards down the snow-covered mountainside. She moved cautiously, approaching him at an angle. She was big as does went, and had no fawns. He would have preferred a buck, but was hunting for food so it did not matter.
The call came late at home after another long, hard day full of surprises. He was on the john reading the paper when he heard the muted ring of the phone downstairs. Halfway through the third ring, there was the faint sound of Flora’s voice. When she stopped talking, he knew it was for him.
As he had anticipated, there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Kurt, there’s a call for you.” He debated asking her to tell whoever it was to call back.
“Who is it?”
“A detective in Norrköping.”
“Norrköping?”
“Yes. Do you want me to tell him you’ll call back?”
