Cruzatte and Maria Read online

  Cruzatte and Maria

  A Montana Mystery Featuring Gabriel Du Pré

  Peter Bowen

  … For the tribe of Martin—

  Bill, Laura, John, Brian, and Pooker Bear…

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 1

  DU PRÉ LIMPED INTO the Toussaint Saloon. He slid up on a stool, wincing.

  “What the hell happened to you?” said Susan Klein, not looking up from her knitting.

  “Shoeing horses,” said Du Pré. “One of them he don’t like it so good.”

  Susan nodded.

  “How bad?” she said.

  “There is this sound,” said Du Pré, “when his hock hit my ribs. Like when you crunch carrots, your teeth.”

  “Coughing any blood?” asked Susan Klein. She still didn't look up from her knitting.

  “No big clots,” said Du Pré.

  Susan nodded.

  “You want sympathy or a drink?” said Susan. She frowned at the wool in her hands.

  “Both,” said Du Pré.

  Susan put her knitting down on the bartop. She went to the well and put ice in a tall glass with whiskey and water.

  She pushed the drink over to Du Pré.

  “You pore of son of a bitch,” she said, looking at him mournfully.

  Du Pré nodded.

  He drank.

  Susan went back to her stool and sat.

  Click click click went her needles.

  “Harvey Wallace called for you,” said Susan. “He said he will call back.”

  “I am dead, tell him, ver’ sad, but the funeral is tomorrow,” said Du Pré.

  Harvey Fucking Weasel Fat Wallace, Du Pré thought, Blackfeet FBI Agent, never calls me with any good news.

  “That would be telling an untruth,” said Susan Klein.

  “OK,” said Du Pré, “I will tell him I am dead. Ow.” He rubbed his ribs.

  The door opened and a couple of ranchers came in laughing. They took the drinks to the pool table and the balls thundered out of the belly of the table. A rancher racked them and the other broke; balls clacked.

  “Shit,” said one of the ranchers.

  Du Pré rolled a smoke, and he lit it and blew out a long stream of blue-gray cloud.

  “They really grind up dog turds to mix in that stuff?” said Susan Klein.

  “Poodle,” said Du Pré. “Ver’ expensive dogs.”

  A ball rattled down a pocket.

  “Whoeee!” said a rancher.

  The telephone rang. Susan Klein didn’t stir.

  Neither did Du Pré.

  The telephone rang and rang and rang. Finally, one of the ranchers went to the pay phone and picked it up.

  “Yeah?” he said. He listened.

  “Du Pré!” he said. “Fer you.”

  Du Pré sighed, and he got up and walked slowly toward the old box on the wall by the front door. The rancher who had answered it looked at him.

  “Thanks,” said Du Pré, “from my heart.”

  The rancher grinned.

  Du Pré lifted the receiver to his ear.

  “Yah,” he said.

  “Du Pré,” said Harvey Wallace. “Long time no come to phone. You prick.”

  “I am dead,” said Du Pré. “Ver’ sad, you should come, the funeral, it is tomorrow.”

  “You don’t want to talk to me,” said Harvey. “I told my boss that you wouldn’t. I said, ‘Du Pré will tell me to go to hell,’ what I said. She said to try my best. Or I’d be out there, in the fucking cactus, eating fried calf nuts and smelling that stinking goddamned sagebrush and all the rest of that shit I couldn’t wait to get away from.”

  “She say all that?” said Du Pré. “She knows you good, huh?”

  “Very smart lady,” said Harvey. “Scary, actually. Here I am, drawing a fat government paycheck and bennies and all, and the ungrateful bitch wants me to work, too.”

  “I was kicked, a horse, today,” said Du Pré. “And me, I come here to have some nice drinks, sit, smoke a little, get used to my ribs which are not the ribs I woke up with, this morning, they have changed. So maybe you could stop telling me, your work troubles, ask me what it is you want me to do so I can say go fuck yourself, Harvey and go back, get used to my ribs.”

  Harvey sighed.

  “We have a problem maybe,” said Harvey. “Actually I lied. My boss actually did not say a word to me. Nobody has. But, well, I don’t have very much to do, you know, this being government work, and so I read the newspapers, lots of newspapers, and I even read some of what folks call newspapers out where you are.”

  “My ribs,” said Du Pré. “They are waiting, your punch line.”

  “For the last three years,” said Harvey, “people have been disappearing over there on the Missouri.”

  “Yah,” said Du Pré, “We have this governor, Meagher, he fall in long time ago they don’t find him. So he is who I am looking for?”

  Harvey sighed.

  “I smell trouble,” he said. “Look, nine people have just up and flat evaporated in the last three years. They all were going down the river through that White Cliffs area, you know, Fort Benton on—”

  “To the dam,” said Du Pré.

  “Yeah,” said Harvey. “They found their boats, floating down in the river, and they found their gear, some of it anyway, but the people they never did find …”

  Du Pré sighed. He rubbed his sore ribs.

  “Too bad,” said Du Pré. “They go down the river covers them, mud and sand, they don’t come up. Happens, you know.”

  “I know,” said Harvey, “but I just don’t like this.”

  “So,” said Du Pré, “so send one of the Mormons you got, you know, the wing tips the suit, blend in so good, have them ask them questions.”

  “Very funny,” said Harvey. “But there is something else. The local law there doesn’t seem to care very much.”

  “Shit,” said Du Pré. “They are lost, the river, but don’t know what county they are lost in? They got no money at all, Harvey, is why they do not care. They got maybe a sheriff, two deputies, county big as them states back where you are, they got troubles now, yes.”

  Harvey sighed.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Du Pré. “You got no jurisdiction, can’t send nobody, so you call me, your good friend Du Pré, him got the broken ribs and he is ver’ thirsty, say, Du Pré, you maybe go up there, snoop around for your old friend Harvey, see maybe yo
u can find a crime, one that he likes …”

  Harvey sighed.

  “Fuck you, no,” said Du Pré.

  “I guess,” said Harvey, “I’ll have to talk to Madelaine.”

  “Prick,” said Du Pré.

  “Thing is,” said Harvey, “much as I talk about the West and say I hope never to see goddamn prickly pear cactus and smell sage again I don’t really mean it. What I am afraid of—”

  “They already start a war out here, Harvey,” said Du Pré. “They say, the ranchers, you are so bad for the environment. I know people get killed here, long time.”

  “I don’t want that,” said Harvey.

  “Me either,” said Du Pré.

  “Good,” said Harvey. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “NON!” yelled Du Pré.

  “Thing was, well, about the dog …” said Harvey.

  “My ribs hurt, I need a drink, I say no, non, Harvey, it is nice talking to you always. Go fuck the dog now, be happy,” said Du Pré.

  “It was this bloodhound,” said Harvey.

  Susan Klein brought Du Pré his drink. He had some.

  “I sent this guy out there, look around a little,” said Harvey.

  “Wing tips, dark suit,” said Du Pré.

  “Ranch kid from Wyoming,” said Harvey. “Supposed to be looking for a little spread, up on the river.”

  Du Pré sighed.

  “He’s there about three days, no motel, so he’s got this little motor home, you know,” said Harvey.

  “Fuck,” said Du Pré.

  “One morning he’s camped down by the river on BLM land, in this little grove of trees. Scratching at the door. My guy figures it is a dog got lost, he opens the door, there’s the dog.”

  Du Pré waited.

  “Big bloodhound,” said Harvey. “Long face, big ears, and this sign on a string around his neck.”

  Du Pré muttered curses under his breath.

  “Want to know what the sign says?” said Harvey.

  Du Pré waited.

  “Look on my collar,” said Harvey. “So my guy does and there is this little brass plaque there, got the dog’s name on it and a phone number.”

  Du Pré waited.

  “My name is Whispering Smith,” said Harvey. “That was the dog’s name, I mean.”

  “There is no sign on that dog, look at my collar,” said Du Pré.

  “No, there wasn’t,” said Harvey. “But I thought I needed to add that for dramatic effect.”

  “Son of a bitch,” said Du Pré.

  “You know who Whispering Smith was?” said Harvey.

  “Yes,” said Du Pré.

  CHAPTER 2

  BART FASCELLI WAS GRILLING eggplant and tomato halves and garlic cloves, and the rich smell of olive oil and charcoal and garlic rose up in clouds.

  He had two legs of lamb in a covered cooker, crusty brown outside, pink inside.

  He had baked Italian bread.

  Du Pré and Madelaine sat at the big table Du Pré had made from big rough four-by-fours of walnut and butternut. Bart had sketched out the design. He had gotten the wood somewhere, and paid a lot of money for it.

  “So who was Whispering Smith?” said Bart.

  “Charley Siringo,” said Du Pré. “He was a Pinkerton and he broke up cattle rustlers, said his name was Whispering Smith.”

  “Whispering Smith,” said Bart. “Good guy or bad?”

  “Depends on whether you are a cattle rustler or a rancher,” said Madelaine. “Lots of things just depend.”

  “That goddamned Harvey,” said Du Pré. “Him, want me go up there and see about these people they are missing.”

  “How many?” said Bart.

  “Nine,” said Du Pré.

  “Maybe they just drowned,” said Bart.

  Du Pré nodded. He lit a smoke.

  The telephone chirred and Bart grabbed it and went back to his cooking. He had the phone to his ear.

  “Oh, Maria!” he said. “How are things?”

  He listened.

  “No shit?” he said.

  He listened.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Of course. No, I told you that I would much rather you read a good book or went to a museum or a concert. Everybody has to work. Your work is educating yourself. So you won’t turn out like me.”

  Bart laughed, and he handed the phone to Du Pré.

  “Papa,” said Maria, “say something.”

  “Yah,” said Du Pré. “So what you want, me to say?”

  “Ah,” said Maria, her voice lilting like Du Pré’s now. “I just want to hear métchif a little.”

  “Yah,” said Du Pré.

  “So how are you?” said Maria.

  “Got kicked my ribs hurt that goddamned Harvey is after me and it is snowing outside,” said Du Pré. In the last two minutes the sky had blackened and big fat wet flakes of snow were falling hard.

  Spring.

  Maybe a full-blown blizzard.

  Seen one in July once.

  “That Bart,” said Maria. “He is paying for me to go, school, and anything I want to do, learn more. He is a nice man.”

  Du Pré grunted.

  Maria was holding something back.

  “You are coming home,” said Du Pré.

  “Papa!” said Maria. “You knew. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell Madelaine, no one. But you know.”

  “I am your papa,” said Du Pré.

  “Yeah,” said Maria. “I will be there in two, three weeks.”

  Du Pré grunted.

  “You know how much Bart is paying for me to go to school here?” said Maria. “Forty-seven thousand a year, with everything, my rent on my apartment.”

  Du Pré whistled. Forty-seven thousand dollars was more than he made in three years, most years.

  “Madelaine is there,” said Maria.

  “Yah,” said Du Pré, handing the phone to Madelaine.

  Madelaine walked off with it, away from the cooking and the men.

  Du Pré looked at Bart.

  “Forty-seven thousand dollars a year?” said Du Pré.

  “Out of the question,” said Bart. “You aren’t worth that much.”

  “That is what you are paying, so Maria can go, that fancy school,” said Du Pré.

  “That’s different,” said Bart. “She is worth that.”

  “Jesus,” said Du Pré.

  “I thought you wanted a raise,” said Bart. “Out of the question.”

  “I don’t work for you,” said Du Pré.

  Bart thought about that for a moment.

  “God is merciful,” said Bart.

  Him give me money from time to time and I make furniture for him, I finish out his house for him. Packets of hundreds, right from the bank. I have more money in my pocket sometimes than any Métis ever had.

  Du Pré looked at his friend.

  “You are a prick,” said Du Pré, “but thank you anyway.”

  Bart waved airily.

  “How much are you worth?” said Du Pré, grinning.

  He had never asked Bart that before.

  Bart looked at him.

  “There’s a magazine,” he said. “Forbes. They said I was worth two point seven billion dollars.”

  “Oh,” said Du Pré.

  “But I am sure it is a lot more than that,” said Bart.

  “Oh,” said Du Pré, “that Maria, she is coming home.”

  Bart smiled sunnily.

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll get her a ride.”

  Du Pré shook his head.

  “Let them fly, the regular plane,” he said.

  “Aw, come on,” said Bart.

  Du Pré thought about it.

  For one thing, there wasn’t a regular plane to this part of Montana.

  The roads were full of frost boils.

  The drive to Billings would be hell.

  “Fly them from Billings maybe,” said Du Pré.

  “Done,” said Bart.

  “Ok,” said Du
Pré. “Me, I do not want my daughter spoiled.”

  “Maria,” said Bart, “would be insulted if I spoiled her. You know … well, like so much it’s too easy for me.”

  Du Pré nodded.

  So damn easy for you it kill you pret’ near, Du Pré thought.

  Bart’s red face, bloated with drink and misery, Bart’s shaking hands, his convulsive vomiting.

  I remember all that.

  Hasn’t had a drink, years.

  Good.

  “It’s a pleasure for me to help Maria,” said Bart. “She will go out into the world and do something good. She’s a person with so much light in her.”

  Du Pré made himself another ditchwater highball.

  “What is eating on you, Du Pré?” said Bart.

  Du Pré looked at him.

  “Harvey,” said Du Pré. “Him want me, go over to the Missouri, the Bear Paw country. People are missing there.”

  Bart nodded.

  Du Pré drank.

  “Harvey send a spy,” said Du Pré. “They know right away, send him the dog.”

  “I get all that,” said Bart. “Why does Harvey think you can do this when his guy couldn’t?”

  Du Pré shook his head.

  “Me I do not know.”

  Lots of people are not telling me everything, Du Pré thought.

  “I won a big ranch there,” said Bart. “Bought it to save it, if I can. God, the cattle business is terrible now. The Van Der Meer place. Outbid two insurance companies and some computer millionaire. Why the hell people want a cattle ranch when they get money I don’t know.”

  Du Pré laughed. Bart owned a dozen in the West, huge places.

  My friend he digs ditches and foundations with his backhoe, his dragline, his dozer. He likes the work, gets all dirty, days end there is a hole in the ground wasn’t there before.

  Jesus.

  Madelaine came back, grinning.

  Du Pré looked at her.

  She shook her head.

  Lots of people not telling me everything, thought Du Pré.

  “Dinner’s ready,” said Bart.

  CHAPTER 3

  DU PRÉ LOOKED UP at the sky and nodded.

  “See them,” said Madelaine, “over there?”

  The plane was a silver glint to the southwest.

  If that was the plane.

  “She not been here a long time,” said Madelaine. “Good to see that Maria.”

  Du Pré rolled a cigarette.

  My Maria she come back here from that English school she has been studying at, probably tell me she is marrying somebody. I smile, I pray for him.