The Thunder Keeper(66)

“Sorry I’m late.” She shrugged out of her raincoat.

“It’s okay.” He came around the table, hung her coat over the stand near the door, then pushed in her chair for her. Where had he learned such things? Sometimes in the middle of the night she lay awake, trying to remember if she’d passed on to Lucas and Susan important things that had been passed on to her: be considerate, be humble, be thoughtful in all things. She could never remember for certain, and it always left her shaken with a feeling of incompleteness, of things half-finished.

“You okay, Mom?” Lucas took his chair next to her.

She nodded and gave him her best smile.

“We’ve been worrying about you.”

Vicky waited until the waitress had taken their orders and turned away. “You and who else?” she said, instantly regretting the question.

“Talked to Dad today,” Lucas said. “He says you oughta come back to the res with your own people. He’d look out for you. Too bad—”

She held up one hand. “Don’t, Lucas,” she said.

Silence dropped between them while the waitress delivered plates of spaghetti and meatballs, steam curling over the top. When the waitress moved away, Vicky changed the subject: “How are the job interviews?” she said, a forced lightness in her tone. She left the house early in the mornings, came home late. They’d been passing each other on the sidewalk.

“Great,” he assured her.

Twirling the spaghetti around her fork, she pressed on: a series of small questions, the pleasantries exchanged by strangers. His answers were short, perfunctory, accompanied by shrugs.

Finally Lucas said, “So what’s up with Laramie?”

She took a bite of spaghetti and, after a moment, told him about Charlie Ferguson, an expert on diamond deposits.

Lucas reared back. Understanding flashed in his dark eyes. “You’re still trying to find out who ran that guy down.” The hard note in his voice surprised her. “You’re still getting involved in dangerous stuff, just like before.”

“Lucas, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I get it all right.” He tossed his napkin onto the table. “It doesn’t matter how much Dad and Susan and I worry about you. You don’t give a flying—” He curled his lips back. “You don’t care about us.”

“That’s not true.” The alarm rose like phlegm in her throat. The rest of the restaurant grew quiet. Vicky could sense the family at the next table staring at them.

“I’m not in any danger.” She kept her voice low. My God, she was lying to her own son. Information was dangerous. She started to tell him about the kimberlite pipe four miles north of Bear Lake, then stopped herself. She couldn’t pass on the danger to him.

“Look, Lucas,” she said. “I found the evidence that proves Vince Lewis was murdered. I’ve left a message with Detective Clark—”

“Listen to yourself, Mom,” he cut in. “You’re talking about murder! You’re after a murderer! What if the murderer decides to come after you? You expect us to sit back and wait for some policeman to call and say they found your body somewhere? You’ve got to back off.” He took her hand, squeezing it hard. “Promise me you’ll back off.”

She cupped her other hand over her mouth a moment; she didn’t want to start crying. What a sight for the people craning their necks around. Finally she said, “I’ll talk to Detective Clark tomorrow.”

“Don’t you ever give up?” He dropped her hand, tossed his napkin across the table, and stood up. His knuckles popped white out of the brown fists clenched at his side. He leaned over her. “You can’t stop, can you? You can’t stay out of things that don’t concern you. What is it? The danger? Is that what you love?”

“Don’t, Lucas.” She reached toward him, but he stepped back.

“That’s it, the danger. It’s like a drug, and you’re addicted. It must be a real high, outwitting killers, dodging them before they can kill you. And you left Dad because he was addicted to alcohol!” He gave a tight, mirthless laugh. “Funny when you think about it.”

Vicky stood up, half-aware of the waitress standing at the next table, a plate balanced in each hand, her gaze fixed on them. The restaurant was silent. “You don’t understand,” she said, struggling to keep her voice under control. “There are people who want to destroy a sacred place. I can’t turn away.”

Lucas slammed his chair into the table, sending a little clatter through the dishes. She saw the muscles popping out of his clenched jaw as he grabbed the gray jacket hanging beside her raincoat and threw open the door. She watched him pass by the window, head and shoulders thrust forward, and she knew he would not stay at the house tonight.