Manitou Canyon Read Free Page A

his coffee, but he stopped in midmove and stared over the rim of his cup.
    â€œHe said one more thing before he vanished and the dream ended, something I still don’t understand,” Trevor went on. “He said, ‘There are monthterth under the bed.’ He said it like a kid with a kind of speech impediment. I don’t understand what that was all about.”
    But Cork did. When his son, Stephen, who was eighteen now, was very young and still called Stevie, he had trouble pronouncing words that included an s. The s sound came out like th. Like lots of children, he’d been afraid of “monthterth” under his bed and in his closet. Stephen also had unusual, portentous dreams. In one of those dreams, he’d seen the exact details of his mother’s death, years before that tragedy occurred. Stephen still sometimes dreamed in this way, but these days he called them visions.
    Lindsay said, “We asked around. Your son is named Stephen. And folks here say he has . . .” She hesitated. “Special gifts.”
    â€œThis dream seemed to take place in the Southwest?” Cork said.
    â€œOr a place very like it,” Trevor said.
    â€œAny idea why that particular landscape?”
    â€œNone. Except I live in Las Vegas, so it’s a landscape I’m familiar with.”
    â€œDreams often take place in landscapes familiar to the dreamer,” his sister offered. When Cork eyed her, she said, “Psychology minor.”
    Cork sipped his coffee, openly studied them both, thought it over, and finally said, “There’s paperwork we’ll need to take care of.”
    â€œYou’ll do it?” Lindsay seemed a little surprised and clearly pleased.
    â€œI’ll do my best, but I have to tell you up front that I don’t think there are any stones left unturned.”
    â€œSo what’s the plan?” Trevor asked.
    â€œI’ll start by going back into the Boundary Waters to see if there’s anything we didn’t see before.”
    The young woman said, “If you do that, Mr. O’Connor, I’m coming with you.”
    Cork gave a nod. “We’ll have to leave right away, first thing tomorrow morning. We’re right at the edge of winter up here, and if we wait, snow might cover every clue we hope to find. Also, my daughter’s getting married in two weeks, so we need to be in and out quickly.” He looked at her brother. “You coming with us?”
    â€œThe Boundary Waters isn’t really my thing,” Trevor said. “I only went in the first place to please Grandpa John, and that didn’t work out so well. Believe me, I’d only be in the way.”
    Cork glanced at his sister, and she gave a little nod of agreement.
    â€œBut I’ll say a prayer or two while you’re there,” he said with a smile. “Never been very good at that either, but it’s the best I can offer.”
    Lindsay Harris put a hand over her brother’s. “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”
    Both men looked at her curiously.
    She gave a little shrug. “Martin Luther King, Jr.”
    â€œYou know the poem that begins ‘We dance round in a ring and suppose’?” Cork said.
    Lindsay thought a moment. “And the next line is about something that sits in the middle and knows, right?”
    â€œYes,” Cork said. “The Secret.”
    â€œWho wrote it?” Trevor Harris asked.
    Cork stared out the window at the cold, gray November sky, and said, “Frost.”

C HAPTER 3

    C ork parked on Oak Street in front of the State Bank of Aurora to deposit the retainer check John Harris’s grandchildren had given him. More than forty years earlier, on a gray day not unlike this one, his father and some deputies had been involved in a gun battle here, exchanging fire with some escaped convicts who’d just robbed the bank. An old woman, deaf and