Free Windigo Island by William Kent Krueger Page A

fish sandwiches. Cork requested the Lake Superior whitefish. English and Jenny both had the lake trout. Despite the crowd in the little restaurant, the food came quickly.
    Between bites, English said, “So what’s the trained mind of a private investigator think at this point?”
    Cork wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s clear that something was going on with Mariah that was way beyond what a kid ought to be dealing with.”
    “Prostitution, you think?”
    “Despite Hammer’s and Littlejohn’s concern, I think it would be hard to engage in outright prostitution in a town this size without a lot of people knowing about it. All we’ve heard is conjecture. So I’m not ready to jump on that bandwagon yet. But there was clearly something disturbing going on. Maybe it involved Carrie Verga, too. I’d love to get hold of Demetrius Verga, but at the moment that’s up to him. I’d also like to talk to Puck Arceneaux, but that’ll have to wait until his fishing boat docks.”
    English said, “What about the other girl Leslie mentioned? The older one who’d dropped out? Raven something.”
    “Worth a try, but we’ll have to figure out who to ask. Someone on the rez must know her.”
    Cork’s cell phone vibrated. He checked the number on the display. “Demetrius Verga. Finally.” He stood up. “I’m going to take this outside.”
    On his way into the sunlight in front of Maggie’s, Cork answered the call with “This is O’Connor.”
    “Yeah, Demetrius Verga here. You called.”
    Although Cork had never seen Verga, the voice told him this was a big man. Not necessarily in his size but certainly in his own thinking. There was also something foreign in the accent, a little hint of the Mediterranean.
    “I’ve been asked by the family of Mariah Arceneaux to look into her disappearance. I’m wondering if I could talk with you.”
    “I don’t know what help I could be.”
    “I’d still like to talk. I know this must be a difficult time, so soon after your daughter’s death, but it’s important, Mr. Verga.”
    From the other end of the connection came only the sound of wind, and Cork wasn’t sure if it was from a breeze running past a man standing at the wheel of his sailboat or was simple static across air into which no one spoke.
    Verga’s voice finally returned. “I’m on the lake right now. I’ll probably come back in around four. You want, I’ll meet you at Port Superior Marina. Know where that is?”
    “I do,” Cork said. “If your plans change, I’d appreciate a call.”
    “Good-bye, Mr. O’Connor,” Verga said without making any promises.
    Back at the table, Jenny and English had finished their food. Jenny said, “Well?”
    “He’ll talk to me when he comes in from sailing. That’ll be around four down at the Port Superior Marina.”
    Jenny looked at her watch. “A lot to do this afternoon. We should get going.”
    Cork’s sandwich was only half eaten. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. “Why don’t you go get the Explorer and bring it back to me while I finish eating? Then you and Daniel go do your research at the library.”
    “What about you?”
    “I’m going to make a call on the Bad Bluff police, see if they can shed some light on any of this.”
    “Okay,” Jenny said, clearly eager to be off.
    Daniel English reached toward the wallet in his back pocket, but Cork stopped him. “Lunch is on me.”
    English said, “Migwech,” and followed Jenny out the door.
    Cork finished his sandwich slowly, appreciating the quiet time to himself to think. Jenny was right. All they had at the moment was a fairly generic picture of Mariah Arceneaux. But for him, that was enough. What happened to her, whatever it was, didn’t necessarily depend on who she was at heart. The world often did things to people that they never saw coming and that they would never have called down on themselves. Mariah may have opened a door on her own, but what came through that door