Claire pulled open the drawer and there it was, with the official National Park Service emblem. She wet her dry mouth. “I have it right here, Mr. Garrison,” she answered in what came out as an overly cheerful voice. “I promise to let him know.”
Claire hung up and stood for a moment, looking at the telephone as if it held a clue to why Lem Garrison wanted to talk to Red.Heard he and Dell got into it at the Slippery Otter.If Grace Miller knew that, of course others did. Was that why Lem Garrison was looking for Red?
Claire walked slowly out to the truck. She settled Jenny on the seat but didn’t turn the key. Another thought—startling and unwelcome—chilled her in the hot cab. Could this be why Red had been in such a hurry to go to Libby? To avoid the superintendent’s questions about Dell? Was he hiding something not only from her, but from the authorities?
chapter 21:BRIDGET
Bridget was so mad she could spit.
She tugged off her uniform and threw it on her bed. She and Claire had been worried sick, and this whole time Frannie was safe and sound, working someplace in Yellowstone as a maid, of all things. She checked her wristwatch. Twenty minutes until Claire picked her up. Then, Bridget would give her little sister the telling-off she deserved.
But first, she had to do something she’d been dreading for days. She had to call Dad.
She knotted the belt of her dressing gown and went down the hall to the bathroom. The little room was hot and stuffy, thanks to a tiny window that didn’t open. She turned on the taps and splashed cold water on her face.
Dad would want to know about Claire.
What was she supposed to say? That Red was rude and Claire looked exhausted? That Bridget had failed her father in every way?
By the time she had brushed her hair and dressed, she had five minutes to spare. She went to the hall telephone and dialed the operator. She’d be quick—too quick for him to weasel the truth out ofher—and be done before the Crow knew she was using the telephone without permission. “I’d like to make a collect call, please.”
“Bridget, thank the Lord,” Dad said after he accepted the call. “I’ve been worried sick.” His voice, so familiar, made her throat constrict.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “I should have called sooner, but with the job and all, I just didn’t have a moment.”
“Well, you’ve called now, and I’m glad.” He let out a long breath. “How is the job?”
Bridget leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the telephone, hearing the distance between them in the crackling silence. All of Willmar might consider her father a hard man, but when it came to his daughters, he was devoted. He was also a terrible worrywart. Bridget certainly couldn’t tell him about the nurses who died. Neither could she tell him about the letter of reference she hoped to get for the Mayo. What could she tell him? “We’re worked off our feet but I’m getting good experience.”
“And your sister? How is she?”
Bridget launched into her rehearsed lines. “She’s wonderful, Dad. Jenny is the picture of Claire and the sweetest baby.” All true, and nothing for him to worry about. “Claire and Red took us all over the park the first day.” She didn’t mention the bear or Frannie eating the sandwiches or Red’s boorish behavior. “We went to Mass on Sunday at a beautiful little church and the priest was very friendly.”
“Have you talked to her yet, Bridget?” Dad asked. “About coming home?”
She put a hand to her waist to quell a ripple of unease. “You know how Claire is,” she said carefully.
“Bridget,” Dad said. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
How did he do that? “Dad, it’s nothing.”
His voice rose in concern. “Is she sick? Is Red mistreating her?”
“No, Dad,” she said quickly. Of course not.
“Then what is it?”
Oh, what could she say now? If she told him about Claire’s real situation—how she and Red didn’t have two dimes to rub togetherand lived in the middle of nowhere and something was definitely wrong between them—her sister would never forgive her. The line crackled and she hoped maybe they would lose the connection.
No such luck.
“Bridget?” Her dad’s voice held the tone that had always pulled the truth from her. Her sisters had called her a tattletale, but it was only because she couldn’t defy Dad like they could.
“It’s Frannie,” she blurted. “She ran off and got a job. She’s working in the park and living in some campground.” It wasn’t tattling. He deserved to know what Frannie was up to and it was better than telling him about Claire.
He was silent for a moment and she could imagine him rubbing his eyes. “Do I have to come out there?”
“No.” Heavens, no. The last thing they needed was Dad coming out, seeing Claire’s situation and demanding she return home with the baby. Then Claire would really be furious with her. “Dad, I have to go,” she said. “This is costing you a fortune. I’ll write you a long letter soon, and I’ll take care of Frannie.”
