Free Dead Man’s Fancy by Keith McCafferty Page B

that he wore around his neck. An embossed wolf, facing forward like it was looking at you. It had garnet stones for eyes. I made a comment about it, just to say something, the way you do, and he said ‘The wolf is my brother.’ Not like a hippie would say it, ‘The wolf is my bro, man,’ but matter of fact. Like you’d say ‘I got a sister from Poughkeepsie.’”
    â€œWhat can you remember about the motorcycle?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know bikes that well. High exhaust, like an off-road bike. I think it had a red gas tank.”
    â€œMontana plates?”
    â€œMaybe. Nothing registered. I might have noticed if it was out of state. He had a girl with him. She sure as hell registered.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œThey were riding tandem. Just a bitty thing, short black hair, had sort of a scrunched-up face. A pixie doll. But she had eyes, I’m not kidding you, they were the color of a Bloody Mary. More orange than red. You felt like if you were in a room, she’d get up on the mantel and crouch down, stare at you like a cat. A very strong vibe. Never said a word, though. He did the talking.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œSaid he was a friend of Nicki’s, wanted to know if she still worked for me. I told him she’d left town but he was persistent—where did she go, did I have a number. His questions were . . . direct. Polite but distant, cold. Like he wasn’t going to let you see anything but the mask. When he saw he wasn’t getting anywhere, they left.”
    â€œDid you see them again?”
    â€œNo, but I had a feeling, you know, that maybe there was something up with Nicki. Maybe she hadn’t left town like she’d said. I thought if she was at her dad’s old place, I should warn her about this guy. So I drove over there and someone had broken a window and trashed the place. I figured it was him. I mean, who else? It wouldn’t have been hard to find the address. A lot of people knew Nicki. Just like it was common knowledge she worked for me. Some wrong impressions about that.”
    â€œSo she wasn’t your girlfriend?” Stranahan kept his voice casual.
    â€œThe sheriff tell you that? Well, he’s wrong. I’m a married man.”
    Stranahan nodded agreeably. “I know for some men that wouldn’t be the same as an answer.”
    â€œIt is when you’re talking to me.” A glitter came into his eyes. “A lot of guys, they leave the door open. They say they’ll be faithful, but all it takes is someone to put her foot in the crack. Not me. The door shut the day I took the vows.”
    â€œBut Nicki did live here?”
    â€œShe lived with her old man. I never saw her in the winter, she went up to B.C. a lot with her dad, but during the busiest fishing months she stayed upstairs here, just more convenient. Sometimes Alfonso would drop by after work. We’d grill burgers on the porch. He was okay then, nobody knew he had the cancer. That man, he’d been a trapper, run sled dogs, survived two bush plane crashes. He was sort of hard to understand, but he could tell you stories.”
    â€œHow did Nicki work out?”
    â€œBest move I ever made was hiring her. Most guys, they wander around the shop with their hands in their pockets, maybe buy a few bugs. Nicki would shake that hair of hers, they’d walk out with an Orvis fly rod.” He licked his thumb and imitated someone peeling bills off a wad of cash. “Clients gave her hundred-dollar tips. You’re blessed with her DNA, you learn how to use it.”
    â€œAnd she used it.”
    â€œSure she did. It was her idea to paint a mermaid on the boat. But she would deflect the attention if someone mentioned her looks. I remember when the photographer from
Fly Angler
came here to take her picture, she said, ‘You ought to see my sister, she’s much prettier than