Read Online Red Knife by William Kent Krueger - Free Book Online

she said.
    “Don’t go all sloppy on me.”
    Annie stopped and stared down Oak Street where the concrete was shaded by all that was familiar: Pflugelmann’s drugstore, the tall clock tower of the county courthouse, the old Rialto theater, Johnny’s Pinewood Broiler, and the dozens of other shops and alleyways and street corners that were already beginning to feel lost to her.
    “Sometimes I think all I want is for nothing in my life to change, ever,” she confessed.
    Cara turned and gazed down the street in the direction from which they’d just come. “I guess I know what you mean. But we’ll be back. You know, Thanksgiving, Christmas. And, hey, we can party without the whole town knowing every detail.”
    Annie laughed. “I’ve seen you when you drink. Girl, you’re so loud the whole frigging state can hear you get crazy.”
    From up ahead came music in a familiar style. Annie recognized the pluck and strum of Uly Kingbird on his guitar. She spotted him sitting alone at the top of the county courthouse steps. His eyes were closed and he seemed lost in his music.
    “Come on,” Annie said, and started toward Uly.
    Cara held back. “Oh, God. You heard what happened to his brother?”
    “Of course.”
    “Look, I don’t know him. He’s always creeped me out. What am I supposed to say?”
    “It’ll be all right. Come on.” She crossed the street. “Hey, Uly,” she called from the bottom of the courthouse steps.
    He opened his eyes and stared down at her. His fingers kept working the strings. It sounded familiar, but Annie didn’t recognize the tune. It sounded like it might have been Bob Dylan, whose music Uly loved, partly because of the connection with the Iron Range. Maybe a Dylan tune Uly had rearranged.
    “I heard about your brother,” Annie said. “I’m sorry.”
    Beside her, Cara said, “Really sorry.”
    Uly sang, “And now you’re gone forever and now you’re gone for good.”
    “Are you okay?” Annie asked.
    Uly sang, “You’ve taken that long lonely walk into that dark wood.”
    “Look, if you need to talk or anything—”
    Uly strummed a sudden, harsh cord, cutting her off.
    “Jeez,” Cara said. “She’s just trying to be nice.”
    “I’ll follow you there someday,” Uly sang. “The choice it isn’t mine. I can see the end a’coming like a freight train down the line.”
    Cara grabbed Annie’s arm. “You’re not going to stick around for this, are you? Let’s get out of here.”
    Annie shook off her hand. “I’ll go when I’m ready.”
    “Fine. I’ll walk home alone.”
    “Fine.”
    Cara spun away and crossed the street in long, angry strides.
    Annie turned back to Uly, whose fingers never left the strings of his guitar.
    “Is that Dylan?” she asked.
    “Does it matter?”
    Annie climbed the steps and sat beside him. “You okay?”
    He stopped playing and put a finger below his right eye. “See any tears?” He struck a stage smile. “Military family. We don’t cry.” He strummed a couple of chords, then shook his head. “Alex was a lot older than me. We weren’t what you’d call close.” He looked away from her. “You’re welcome to stay, but I don’t really feel like talking now.”
    She sat with him and he bent to the music as if nothing existed but the song.

TWELVE
    C ork watched a flock of Canada geese wing their way north above Iron Lake. They flew in a shifting V, dark and purposeful against the butter yellow sky where the sun was setting. Along the lakeshore, the poplar and birch were already leafed out. It had been a mild winter; actually, it had not been much of a winter at all. There’d been hardly any snow, the lakes had frozen late, and the ice had gone out early. The resorts, usually buzzing with the activity of snowmobilers and ice fishermen, were empty. April, which folks in the North Country called “mud season,” had been dry as well. There was common agreement that the seasons weren’t what they used to be. Global warming,