“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”
He nodded toward the Louisville Slugger. “I appreciate that you didn’t use my head for ball practice.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“So… Guess I’m done here. Good to see you.”
Annie walked him to the front door. Before he left he asked, “Is it true about Waaboo?”
“Is what true?”
“That he talked to the ghost of Olivia Hamilton?”
“Is that what people are saying?”
“Small town. Word gets around. And then”—he swung his hand toward the street out front—“all those reporters.”
“Talked to a ghost? Does that really sound plausible?”
He gave a small laugh. “You’re right. Crazy rumor.”
“Will you do us a favor? Don’t help spread the rumor.”
“Of course.”
She watched him descend the porch steps and cross the street. She closed and locked the door. She plugged the landline back in, just in case one of her family called.
Then she looked at the baseball bat still in her hand.
She’d almost become a nun. She’d ministered to the poor and the desperate. She’d marched in the name of peace. Had she really been prepared to knock the brains out of someone?
Who am I? Annie wondered. Who have I become? What is death doing to me?
For this, she had no answer.
CHAPTER 25
Cork and Marsha Dross interviewed the two barmaids who were serving customers the night Olivia Hamilton went missing. The women recognized the photo of Mathias Paavola, but neither of them could confirm that he was in the bar that night. When Dross asked about the man with the misshapen ear, they both reacted negatively.
“Real bad vibes off him,” one of them said.
But because of tension in the bar that night caused by the two biker gangs, neither of them could say for sure whether he’d been there.
It was twilight when Cork and Dross headed back toward Aurora. Cork used his cell phone to call Agent Shirley. He put her on speakerphone and filled her in on their interviews with Cedarholm, the bearded customer, and the two barmaids.
“So, Mathias Paavola was regular enough at the bar to be recognized,” Shirley said. “But no confirmation that he was there the night the Hamilton girl went missing.”
“That’s the size of it,” Cork said. “Apparently he didn’t usually come alone. But no ID on his drinking buddy.”
“And you say there’s an Erno Paavola gnome in the bar?” Shirley said. “Bartered?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Is it possible, you think, that Paavola bartered blueberries as well?”
“It’s possible.”
“So this Cedarholm might have known about the blueberry patch. I think we need to sweat him a little more. It’s also possible Mathias Paavola told his drinking buddy about the blueberry patch. We need to ID him.”
“Not much to go on there. Six feet tall, good build. Brown hair. His most telling features seem to be an odd ear and a habit of harassing women.”
“Maybe Paavola’s sister can help out,” Agent Shirley suggested.
“We’ll give that a shot and let you know.”
Cork tried calling the number Irene Boyle had given him. When he got no answer, he left a voice message.
“We’re less than an hour away,” Cork said to Dross. “What do you think? Worth the drive?”
She said, “I don’t punch a time clock. You need to get back?”
“I’d rather get a few answers first, if we can.”
There was still a faint glow of daylight in the west when they pulled into the driveway of the small rambler in Cloquet. The house was dark. They got no answer when they rang the doorbell, and the same result when they knocked.
“Must’ve gone out,” Dross said.
“Let me check for a car.” Cork walked around to the side of the attached garage, where there was a window. He used the flashlight app on his cell phone to illuminate the inside. It was a one-car garage, and the car was there. He returned and reported what he’d found.
