Windigo Island by William Kent Krueger Read Free Book Online Page A

left and, against a far wall, an empty mattress, where surprisingly, the bedding had been neatly put in place.
    Louise looked up at English. “I haven’t seen Henry Meloux in thirty years. Did he remember me?”
    “Yes,” English said.
    She nodded. “He helped me,” she said, more to herself than anyone in the room. “But he didn’t ask me for anything back then.”
    Cork wondered in what way she’d been helped by the old Mide. Because what he saw of her life now made him believe she’d always been troubled or in trouble.
    The boy came out. “I tried,” he said. “He told me to go ‘f’ myself.” He headed back to his idled controller.
    “I’ll wake him up,” Arceneaux said. He disappeared through the opened doorway and turned left. Cork saw half his big body lean down, and when he straightened, he held a teenager in the grasp of his huge hands.
    “Jesus,” the kid cried out. “What the—”
    “Your mother wants you,” Arceneaux said and shoved the kid through the doorway into the living room.
    He wore black boxer shorts and nothing else. He was licorice-stick thin, and his black hair was a mess. He was a good-looking seventeen-year-old, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gave his mother a killing look. Then he gave the same look to the others. Except Daniel English, to whom he said, “’Sup, cuz?”
    English said, “This man wants to ask you some questions, Toby.”
    Toby eyed Cork as if he had his number. “Cop.”
    “No.”
    He seemed surprised that he was wrong. “What kind of questions?”
    “About your sister, Mariah.”
    “What about her?”
    “I’d like to find her, if I can.”
    “Well, good luck with that.”
    “Any idea where she is?”
    “Nope.”
    “Any idea why she ran off?”
    “Nope.”
    “Any idea who her friends were?”
    Toby yawned, maybe from lack of sleep or maybe from boredom. “Nope.”
    “Do you care if she ever comes back?”
    His lips formed the word again, but he stopped himself and actually considered the question. In the end, all he offered was a shrug. Then he yawned again and scratched his belly.
    “Did you know Carrie Verga?” Cork asked.
    “Not really. Saw her around.”
    “What about Mariah’s other friends? Know any of them?”
    “I never paid much attention.” He sounded truly bored now.
    It was clear to Cork he would get nowhere with the kid. “Could I see her room?” he asked Louise.
    “Her room?” A look that Cork couldn’t quite interpret crossed the woman’s face. It may have been fear or guilt or some combination thereof. “Why?”
    “It might give me a better feel for Mariah.”
    Louise’s hands rose from her lap and gripped the arms of her wheelchair. “Not much left. We’re kinda crowded here, so that’s Toby and Puck’s room now.”
    “Puck?” Cork asked. Because Arceneaux had neglected to mention anyone named Puck.
    “My son,” Arceneaux said. “Him and me, we’re staying here with Louise. Temporarily.”
    Which was another detail Arceneaux had neglected to mention. Cork could see only two bedrooms—the one where the boys played their video game and the one from which Toby had just emerged. He wondered where Louise and Arceneaux slept.
    “Puck?” Jenny asked. “Like in A Midsummer Night’s Dream ?”
    “No,” Arceneaux said. “Like in the little round thing hockey players hit. His real name’s Paul. When he was a kid, he was short and round and loved watching hockey on television. So I called him Puck. It stuck.”
    “How long have you been living with Louise?” Cork asked.
    “Little over a year. But I have a line on another place. Puck graduated from high school in the spring. He’ll be leaving soon. Going to college. I’ll be moving out then.”
    “Is Puck here now?” Cork asked.
    Arceneaux shook his head. “He’s working. Got himself a summer job on one of the fishing boats out of Bayfield.”
    “You need me for anything else?” Toby asked.
    “No,” his mother said, her voice flat