Rough Country

Fighting over who was munchin’ who. So . . . it could be a sex thing.”
    Virgil asked the sheriff, “Miss McDill . . . ?”
    “Don’t know. I do know that a lot of the women who come up here aren’t gay,” Sanders said. “Margery told me once that a lot of them want to come up here without having to put up with macho North Woods bullshit. Don’t mind men, they just want to get away for a while, get back to nature on their own.”
    “How’d that come up?” Virgil asked. “About who was gay?”
    “Somebody made a comment at the Chamber of Commerce, and she was steamed about it,” the sheriff said. “I bumped into her, purely by accident, and she let it out. We’ve known each other since grade school.”
    “Huh.”
    The sheriff chuckled. “You just said, ‘Huh,’ like a cop.”
    “No, no . . . but you wonder, if this was done by an outsider, somebody who was staying here at the lodge, how’d they know exactly how to walk in there? To the pond?” Virgil asked.
    “Could have looked on Google Earth, like we did,” Sanders suggested.
    “One possibility,” Virgil admitted.
    “Could have scouted it,” Sanders added.
    “Or it could be a local,” Virgil said.
    “Look, if you’d asked me how to get in there, to the pond, off the road, I’d have to take a long look at a map and maybe get a compass, and I’ve lived here all my life,” Sanders said. “The killer either knows this exact area a lot better than I do, or she looked at Google Earth. Or a map. Maybe used a GPS. And probably scouted it. So it’s just as likely to be an outsider as a local. Either way, they’d have to scout it.”
    “Or was a deer hunter,” Rainy chipped in. Virgil and the sheriff turned back to him. “After it freezes up, it’s not so bad back there. No bugs, no mud. You go a couple hundred yards back, and you can see the pond. John Mack has a couple of tree stands maybe a five-minute walk west of there. Guys around here’ll push that piece of woods, from the road over to the lake, up toward Mack’s place.”
    “Must take a lot of guys to push it,” Virgil said.
    “Naw, it’s not so bad. Like I said, you can see better. You get six, eight guys across that neck, about noon on opening day, and push ’em west, the deer’ll funnel between two little ponds,” Rainy said. “The kids on the stands will usually take one or two. The guys put their kids up on the stands, to give them a crack at a good one.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Virgil said. “Thank you.”
    As they were leaving the library, the sheriff leaned close to the guide and said, “Long as you’re working here, I’d go easy on that ‘rug muncher’ business.”
    Rainy’s Adam’s apple bobbed a couple of times. “I’ll do that. I will.”
     
     
     
    OUT IN THE MAIN LODGE , Sanders said to Virgil, “I don’t want you to get the idea that people up here are antigay. Some of the women at the lodge might be gay, but it doesn’t bother anyone. We want them to come into town, shop, go to the restaurants—these women have money . This resort’s gonna cost them two thousand dollars a week, and some of them come up for a month. It’s not like they buy a bucket of minnows and sleep in the back of the truck.”
    Virgil smiled. “You mean like me and Johnson?”
    “Well—you know, they hang out at the Wild Goose, like George said. Tom Mortensen, he’s the owner, if you told him he was going to lose his gay business, he’d have a heart attack,” Sanders said. “They keep him going. He likes having them, and they like being there. Hell of a lot less trouble than a bunch of cowboys.”
     
     
     
    THEY WENT by the office to find Stanhope. Zoe, the woman who thought Virgil had perpetrated a massacre, was sitting at a computer, wearing a pair of black librarian glasses, which meant that Virgil would almost certainly fall in love with her; the near-sighted intellectual look did him in every time. If she’d had an over-bite, he would have proposed.
    Stanhope was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder and at a piece of paper in her own hand, and said, “I’m sure we paid him off before July first. The Fourth of July fell on a Friday, payday, and I remember that he wasn’t here for the fireworks, because he usually helps set them up—”
    “You see the problem, though,” Zoe said, tapping the computer screen. “If he slopped over into July, then he has to go on the third-quarter numbers, too.”
    Stanhope sensed them at