Rough Country

that bothers me, though, is Washington. Have you guys got even a hint of anything?”
    “Nope. One of my investigators drove over to Duluth to talk to her again, and she says she’s mystified. She just can’t think of anything . She’s no help.”
    “That happened when I was down in Iowa. I’d told some people where I was going—I’m wondering if she was shot at random, to take the attention away from Iowa, from Lifry. From the band and the Eagle Nest?”
    “Hate to think that. Hate to think that we got somebody that crazy. But I guess we do,” Sanders said.
    “Know how you feel. Listen, get Berni Kelly, call me when you got her. I’m heading back to town now.”
    “Where you at?”
    “Been out investigating,” Virgil said.

    VIRGIL PUT THE BOAT back on the trailer and hauled it to Zoe’s driveway, unhooked it, and dropped the tongue on the ground. Knocked on the door, but Zoe was still at work. Drove over to her office, was told that she’d be with a client for another fifteen minutes or so. Went down the street to an ice cream parlor, with a pistachio cone in mind, checked his gut to see if he was picking up any flab, decided he hadn’t, and ordered a hot fudge sundae instead.
    A couple had come in the door behind him, had gotten cones after trying three different samples, and had left, and the wide-eyed girl behind the counter asked, “Are you that state policeman?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “You think you’ll catch him, whoever did it?” she asked. She was self-consciously wiping down the countertop, working to keep the questions casual.
    “Count on it,” Virgil said. “We made a lot of progress today. I figure we ought to have him in another day or two. Three at the outside.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.”
    She looked at him, doubtfully, he thought, and then asked, as Zoe had, “Why are you telling me this?”
    Virgil shrugged. “Why not? You’re a taxpaying citizen. Your money is paying for this investigation, and I’m keeping you up-to-date.”
    “Can I tell my mom? She’s pretty worried, and if she knows you’re going to catch him, she won’t worry so much.”
    “Sure, go ahead,” Virgil said.
    She looked at his shirt: “Why does your shirt say Gourds? Do you grow gourds?”
     
     
     
    VIRGIL, REELING FROM HIS EXPOSURE to the ignorance of the young people of Grand Rapids—she didn’t know the Gourds? The world’s best (and only) country cover of Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice”? What kind of education were they getting, anyway?—walked back to Zoe’s and was sent down to her office.
    Zoe said, “I’m going out to Wendy’s in a couple minutes. She wants me to look at the contract with the guy from Iowa.”
    “I’ve seen his place—it looks pretty substantial to me,” Virgil said, pulling a chair out. “He had pictures of the bands in his office. Big-time stuff.”
    She said, snippy, “So what’ve you been up to? Harassing innocent females?”
    Virgil thought about Davies and said, “Well—yes.” He told her about eliminating Davies, and that he hadn’t really thought that the mousy stay-at-home would have done it anyway.
    “But you still suspect me. At least, one percent, you do,” Zoe said.
    “Nope. I decided I like you too much to consider you a suspect,” Virgil said.
    She shook her head. “You know, if you were an accountant . . . never mind.”
    “Say it.”
    “People would run all over you,” she said. “You can’t do somebody’s books, and tell them that they’re okay, because you like them. Things have to be right . They have to be logical .”
    “Maybe. Now, tell me who you think did it,” Virgil said. “It’s got to be somebody no more than two degrees from Wendy.”
    She looked at him, then at a wall calendar, then at a picture of a herd of white horses running across a pasture, then back to him, and said, “Slibe.”
    “I don’t have a single damn thing that points at him.” Not quite true: he had the prairie dog comment.
    “Let me tell you about Slibe,” Zoe said. “He had this wife, whose name was Maria Osterhus, and they had Wendy and the Deuce, and he had this business that was doing okay, S&M Septic & Grading, and then . . . she fell in love with this other guy. She took off. Didn’t want the business, didn’t want the kids, she wanted Hector what’s-his-name. He quit his job and they took off, one night, and went to Arizona, and haven’t been back since. She ditched them, and Wendy and the Deuce were brought up