"Yeah, one of them, anyway."
"Who did it?"
"Probably one of Carl Hinkel's people. Sue Lynn took the agents' vehicle and left them stranded with her uncle's stock car. The shooter probably thought she was inside."
Temple threw her backpack onto a chair and went into the house and came back out with a cup of coffee in her hand.
"Where's Sue Lynn?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"I checked out the background of Xavier and Holly Girard," she said.
"What for?"
"He's a writer and she's an actress, but they keep showing up where they don't have any business. Each time they have some innocuous explanation. Read this," she said, and handed me a manila folder filled with fax sheets from a private investigator in Phoenix, Arizona.
"By the way, Holly Girard didn't meet Nicki Molinari out here. Their families both belonged to the same country club in Scottsdale," she said.
I sat down and read through the sheets in the folder.
"Her mother's maiden name was Carruthers?" I said.
"You got it."
"Why is it I feel I've been had?" I said.
"I couldn't guess," Temple said.
We drove to the Girards' house above the Clark Fork but no one was home. Then, because I was unconvinced of Xavier's sobriety, we tried the downtown bars. We found him playing pinochle in the back of a workingman's place on Front Street called Stockman's, a bottle of ginger ale by his elbow. He gave me a tired look. "What is it now?" he asked.
"Not much, a discussion of assets, family names, mining interests, that sort of thing," I said.
He grinned at the other players and shrugged his shoulders, as though saying "What can I do?" We went out the back door into the sunshine. A carousel was revolving on the riverbank, the hand-carved wooden horses filled with children.
"Your wife is a member of the family that owns the Phillips-Carruthers Corporation, the same guys who want to destroy the Blackfoot River?" I said.
"You're talking about Holly's mother, not Holly. Holly doesn't own anything," he replied, leaning against an iron rail, looking off at the river.
"That's a little bit disingenuous, don't you think?" I said.
"Hey, get out of our lives, Mr. Holland." "You misled me. I think you've misled this community, too."
"About what?" he said.
"Your wife has a vested interest in seeing Doc hurt. By extension, so do you. That brings us right back to the rape of Maisey Voss and the murder of Lamar Ellison," I said. "You're full of shit."
But he looked like a wounded animal, the hot glare in his eyes focusing on nothing, as if nothing in his range of vision would connect with the confused thoughts in his head. He had managed to combine the roles of cuckold, novelist, flamboyant drunk, Hollywood iconoclast, friend of the environment, confidant of gangsters, and object of pity all in one persona. I wondered when the day would come when he stuck a pistol into his mouth.
Temple and I started to walk away.
"If it's any of your business, Holly and I are busting up," he said at my back.
"Why?" I said.
"She's getting it on with Molinari again. I've had it," he replied.
But if he intended to elicit sympathy, he failed with Temple. She walked to within a foot of his face.