She didn’t dare move.
“Put your hands where I can see them.”
Slowly, she held her hands out to her sides.
“Put them on your head, and turn around now. Nice and slow.”
She placed her hands on her toque, turned.
Budge Hargreaves. His frame filled the doorway. He wore khaki coveralls. Blood stained his front. A massive hunting knife was sheathed at his side. Light caught the side of his face. His features looked flushed, puffy. His eyes glowed feverish. He aimed his shotgun dead at her chest.
“Budge,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Budge Hargreaves. I’m Angie Pallorino. Do you remember me? I was on the river with Sergeant James Maddocks when you found the shallow grave. You were picking mushrooms. You came down to the water and called for our help.”
In her peripheral vision Angie noted the implements hanging on the shed wall. A shovel. An axe. A wrench. She wanted something to grab as a weapon because Budge Hargreaves did not look right. Angie edged infinitesimally sideways toward the tools.
“Don’t. Move.”
She stopped. “Look, it’s okay, Budge. I mean no harm. I ... I’m here with Claire Tollet. She was our fishing guide in the boat when you found the skeleton, remember? I wanted to ask you some questions, and she brought me out here to find you.”
Confusion chased across his face. He swayed slightly on his feet, and Angie realized he was three sheets to the wind. She could smell the drink on him from where she stood. Her fear was suddenly that Claire might arrive and spook him from behind, and he’d swing round and pull the trigger on her.
“Claire Tollet went around the back of your cabin to look for you, Budge. She’ll be coming down here next. Can we go outside, have a word? Can you lower that gun, maybe?”
“They said you’d come up here.” He slurred hiss’s slightly. “What the fuck you wanna go digging all that old shit out again now, eh? Why you wanna talk to me?”
Angie tried a new tactic. “That’s quite the buck you bagged there.” She jerked her head toward the animal carcass swinging on the meat hook. “You must have got it this morning?”
He studied her, searching for the trick, then glanced at his buck.
Angie said, “Do you hunt with arrows? That’s quite a skill.”
Slowly, he lowered the gun. He wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow. “You spooked me. Didn’t recognize you from the back, what with that toque on. Sorry. Jeezus, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She removed her hands from her head. “Why don’t you give me that gun, let me make it safe before Claire comes around and surprises us both?” She tried to keep her voice light as she stepped forward and held out her hand.
To Angie’s relief, he let her take the shotgun. She immediately cracked it open, removed the shells, and set the lot on the workbench.
“Shall we go outside? Where it’s light. We can talk there.”
He turned and exited the shed, stumbling once and catching himself against the wall. She followed and creaked the shed door closed behind her.
“What do you want?” he said, blinking in the light.
“Just a few questions. Is there somewhere we can sit? On your porch, maybe?”
He nodded and started toward his cabin. But he tripped and stumbled again. She caught his arm.
“Had a few celebratory drinks after your hunt?”
“Something like that.” He reached the covered porch and clomped up the stairs in his heavy boots. Angie followed.
Claire appeared from around the cabin. “Oh, you found him!” She paused as Budge’s state quickly became apparent to her. She crooked up her brows.
Angie nodded. “Just going to have a few quick words with Budge here on the deck,” she said as Budge flopped into the only chair on the porch and dropped his face into his hands. Angie sat opposite him on a cut log. Claire remained standing in the clearing in the mud, hands in her pockets, watching, an odd look on her face.
“Who told you I was in town, Budge?” Angie said.
He looked up, assessing her. “Uh, it was just ... the scuttlebutt. I don’t see why you want to talk to me.”
