The River We Remember: A Novel by William Kent Krueger

Author:William Kent Krueger [Krueger, William Kent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Literary, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781982179212
Google: iOPPEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B0BTZZPHG4
Barnesnoble: B0BTZZPHG4
Goodreads: 101160844
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2023-09-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

BRODY DERN WASN’T much of a drinking man, but he sure wanted a drink now. He wanted something that would cool the burn in his gut, stanch the raw bleed of his emotions. He wanted not to be angry and hurting and confused and betrayed. He wanted not to be a part of his own past.

He drove away from the Bluestone farmstead, away from his confrontation with his friend, mentor, and part-time deputy Connie Graff. He hit the steering wheel with his fist and cried, “Damn you! You were just supposed to make sure she was safe, not farm the goddamn land for her.” He balled his fist again but this time swung at the empty air in front of him. “I never wanted this to be murder. That was all your idea.”

The absolute truth was that from the beginning Brody hadn’t cared who killed Quinn. How many times after some superior slight or further demonstration of Quinn’s heartlessness had he himself been tempted to shoot the son of a bitch? But someone had finally had enough of Quinn’s cruelty, and the truth was that, however it had occurred, Brody was certain the killing was justified, and he’d done his best at the scene of the crime to wipe away any evidence of who that might have been. Because, when he was being true to himself, he felt like a coward for not having taken Quinn down himself long before.

It was Noah Bluestone who’d done that. Brody was certain of it. He knew the why of the killing didn’t matter. In Black Earth County, justice would be meted out by a jury of people already thinking in their hearts that the Indian was guilty. There was no way Bluestone would walk free. And that was all Connie Graff’s doing.

At the farmstead, Kyoko Bluestone’s eshaku bow, a simple, respectful Japanese gesture, had torn Brody wide open. Now his anger spilled out, and as he drove toward Jewel he didn’t see the road. In a blind fury, he saw what he saw in the terrible dreams that had been giving him night sweats ever since he pulled Quinn’s chewed-up body from the Alabaster: the burning men, the Asian girl whose smile had betrayed him, the ghost of the man he’d murdered long ago. He saw the true coward he was and had always been. He saw a darkness before him that was a kind of vortex threatening to suck him in, body and soul. And then he saw that he was pulling into the empty gravel parking lot of the Wagon Wheel.

He let Hector out of the cruiser. He didn’t speak to the dog as he normally would have, didn’t tell him to be good and that he would be right back. He didn’t say a thing as Hector stared up at him with those patient brown eyes.

He walked into the Wagon Wheel, walked without clear thought. The place seemed deserted. He sat at the counter and heard noise in the kitchen, and a moment later, Wendell Moon appeared, wiping his hands on his apron.

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