The Poacher's Son (Mike Bowditch 1)

little chat with Truman Dellis, and now what was I going to do? I didn’t want to go home to Sennebec—and I certainly wasn’t going to ask Charley to fly me back now—but what could I accomplish staying here? All day long my anger had kept despair at bay. Now the adrenaline was draining out of me, and I felt as purposeless as a man can feel. Kathy Frost would be hunting for me, too, and she was one person I couldn’t bear to face.
    “You can drop me at the inn,” I said.
    “Say again?” Charley rolled up the window to hear me better.
    “The Dead River Inn. I thought I’d get a room there for the night.”
    “So you’re planning on sticking around, then?”
    In my memory I saw Sarah speeding away from our old house. I remembered the look on Lieutenant Malcomb’s face at Brodeur’s funeral and the anger in Kathy’s voice on the phone. “I’ve got nothing to get back to.”
    “Why don’t you stay over with us? The Boss is a fine cook and I know she’d enjoy making your acquaintance.”
    “I can’t impose on you two like that.”
    “It’s no imposition.”
    “Thanks, anyway.”
    He nodded, but he seemed genuinely disappointed. “The Dead River Inn it is. I’ve been wanting to talk with Sally Reynolds.”
     
    The parking lot was already half-filled with pickups, most with ATVs parked in their truck-beds after the local custom. There were also a few boat-sized Buicks and Oldsmobiles representing the summer cottagers from nearby Spring Lake. The early birds had arrived for dinner.
    I followed Charley into the dimly lit tavern across from the dining room. Reflexively, I looked for the three bikers, but I didn’t see their ugly mugs among the crowd of locals. Behind the bar a silver-haired woman, wearing a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her tan arms, was pouring drinks. A lighted cigarette hung from her bottom lip in violation of Maine state law concerning smoking in bars and restaurants.
    “Sally!” said Charley.
    The woman glanced up at the sound of his voice. She had the weathered face of a person whose lifelong hobbies have been chain-smoking and sunbathing. Her hair was cut close, so it stood up like a wolf’s pelt. Two years ago in this same room she’d pointed a shotgun at my father’s head until the police came to arrest him.
    “Charley Stevens,” she rasped. “I heard you were in today for lunch.”
    “Donna made us some sandwiches. She’s a nice young woman.”
    “She’s got a crush on you, too. You want something to drink?”
    “A cup of coffee—if it’s not too much trouble.”
    “What about your handsome young friend?”
    “Jack Daniels.”
    “Now there’s a man after my own heart.” She ground out the stub of her cigarette in a heavy ceramic ashtray filled with the stubs of about twenty others. “You look real familiar,” she said as she poured my shot. “Yeah, I remember. You were in a fight here. That was the night your dad nearly cut a guy’s throat.”
    “I’ve still got a scar from that night.” I tapped my forehead at the hairline.
    She fixed her eyes on mine, her gaze direct and unashamed. “I guess your old man never worried that you were really his kid—looking like you do.”
    “Mike’s a game warden down on the midcoast. He’s helping us with our investigation.”
    She set down the liquor bottle in the well. “
Our
investigation? And just how exactly are you involved in this?”
    Charley raised his eyes from his coffee mug. “Oh, I’m just helping out. Doing a little flying for the state police. That sort of thing.”
    “You’re supposed to be retired, Charley.”
    “You know me. I can’t help sniffing around.”
    “You should be home with that beautiful wife of yours instead of sniffing around here.”
    “Home is the next stop.”
    “Does Ora know what you’re up to?”
    “You know I can’t put anything past that woman.”
    “That’s because she’s smarter than you.”
    “She is that.” He slid off his stool and winked at me. “I’d better give her a call now that Sally’s shamed me into it.”
    I watched Charley disappear into the lobby in search of a pay phone. When I turned back, I found Sally staring at me hard with those icy blue eyes. She pointed a nail at my forehead. “That’s a honey of a scar.” There was an edge to her tone that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
    “It helps me remember a bad night.”
    “I wouldn’t let your old man in here after that fight. It was the last straw.” She