“But he doesn’t have any winnings until he runs the things.”
“You and I agree on that, Augustus. But that’s not how Theodore sees it. That’s why he and I aren’t working so closely these days. He thinks I’m an old man with old-fashioned ideas, like owing everybody and their brother money is a bad idea, not a good one. Like keeping your money with the folks who made you what you are.”
“What do you mean, Francis? You’ve been in on the projects in Sandy Cove and other places, haven’t you?”
He leaned forward and wagged his finger in my face. “No, Augustus, see, this is where your paper hasn’t gotten the facts quite right. Not that I can really blame you, because how were you to know? But I’ll let you in on a little secret: Theodore and I have had some knockdown, drag-outs over these Sandy Cove projects, including that movie house we’re supposed to be fixing up. I think our money should stay right here”-he pointed downward for emphasis-“and not be going hither and yon just because there’s a few more dollars to be made, like we’re a couple of damn carpetbaggers.”
“Why don’t you just walk away then?”
“Well, it isn’t that simple when you’ve got all sorts of money tied up in the business, but I’m almost there. And that’ll be a good day for Starvation Lake.”
“What about the marina?”
Francis turned and began fitting the stacks of bills into the lockbox. “What about it? After the zoning board does Theodore’s will-and they will, trust me, if not tomorrow then soon enough, because they’re all so deathly afraid that Theodore and his lamebrained little lawyer might sue them-then I would be shocked, son, absolutely shocked, if a single piece of structural steel ever went up out there. Mark my words. Theodore has no desire to run a marina. That’s a big, big operation. Alden is not much better than Angus was at running his show, but at least it’s there.”
“What’s Teddy going to do if not build a marina?”
Francis snapped the lockbox shut. “Have you not listened to a word I said, son? He’ll bleed it, bleed it for all it’s worth. The minute he gets the zoning, his lender will release his first draw. Five million dollars, son. He’s going to run that down the street to First Financial here and pay off some of what he owes on his other properties. The condos on the north shore, that strip mall. He’s leveraged up to his neck. Why do you think he’s borrowing the marina money from a bank down in Saginaw? Because nobody here’ll touch him. Behind all the smiles and the handshakes, believe me, Mr. Boynton these days is a desperate man. One little thing goes wrong and all his debtors are going to come down on him like a shithouse of bricks.”
“Aren’t you in on the marina?”
“Well, yes and no. I have a sort of token investment presence, a few dollars, as a personal favor to Theodore, who’s been with me on many a transaction, after all. I’ll do everything I can to make sure he builds it. Maybe he’ll surprise me.”
As Francis talked, I thought of the deal Teddy had offered Soupy. If Francis was right, it would mean that Soupy would surrender his interest in the old marina in return for a potentially worthless stake in one that might never be built. Teddy would get a marina, all right, just not a new one. Soupy would be left high and dry. And if Teddy bled the old marina like Francis said he’d bled everything else, the town would be left high and dry too. I decided Francis probably didn’t know about the settlement. “I worry about Soupy,” I said.
“I’ll bet you do,” he said. “I worry, too. I knew his father. Alden’s not a bad boy, just a little immature.”
“That’s for sure.” Thinking of the marina reminded me of something. “I’ve got another kind of stupid question.”
“No stupid questions, son, just stupid answers.”
“Right. Did the town ever buy, or even consider buying, a ferryboat of any sort? Like, maybe to take people across the river? Seems crazy, I know.”
Francis chuckled. “Well, you’re not so far off. There was some idle talk way back, must have been the late sixties, before Jack showed up and we got things moving around here. But why do we need a ferry for the river? A child can swim it.”
True. Anyway, that marina receipt was from 1988. I stood to leave. “Thanks, Francis. You know, if you change your mind about being quoted-”
“Oh, no, don’t even think about it. I want to help you. You know what you know now and you’ll have to find ways to get it in your paper other than quoting your faithful barkeep. Maybe it’ll give you something to do besides dig up Jack Blackburn’s grave, God rest his soul.”
“I’m going to be busy.”
“Aren’t we all? This working stuff is never going to be popular.”
“You know,” I said, “I wasn’t around when Coach died. I just came in for the funeral. But maybe you know why they didn’t drag the lake. Seemed like the thing to do, don’t you think?”
Francis frowned. “Like I said, son, I really don’t like digging all of this up. The remains, you know, they never smell so good, if you know what I mean. But on this, well, hell, it’s been a long time, and I can’t say as I remember. Something to do with the budget, I think. The town council made that decision. You could probably look it up. Have you checked the minutes of the council meetings?”
“Have not.” I made a mental note to check in the morning. Because the county handled the town’s records, too, I’d have to deal with County Clerk Verna Clark, who still presided over the files like a sentry at the castle gate. I allowed myself a moment’s recollection of that night long ago in the closet, how Darlene’s eyes glinted in the dark.
Francis grabbed his phone. “Excuse me one moment,” he said.
I waited while he dialed. “And a good Sunday to you, my friend,” he said into the phone. “Just quickly now- that matter we spoke about the other night? Right. I need it taken care of first thing tomorrow. Thank you.”
He hung up. “Sorry,” he said. “My memory’s going so bad I have to do a thing as soon as it pops into my head or it’s gone for a month.”
“I appreciate your help. I know you’d rather we left this alone. You mind if I check in with you later?”
“I suppose not,” he said. “I guess we can’t leave the past buried, eh? I’ll admit it, between you and me, I’d like to know just what the heck happened to Jack too. You’re talking to Leo Redpath?”
“Trying to.”
“Well, keep me undercover and I’ll help you best I can.”
I was glad to hear that.
fifteen
Back at the Pilot, black-and-white photographs of a couple in wedding attire covered Delbert Riddle’s desk. The faint reek of a stogie and the tang of film-developing chemicals hung on the air.
“Stop the presses,” I said. “Delbert was actually here?”
“I can confirm a sighting,” Joanie said. “But the minute I started asking about pictures for my story, he was out the door.”
In his twenty-nine years as the Pilot ’s sole staff photographer, Delbert had taken a picture of just about everyone in Starvation Lake. The way he saw it, one good picture was plenty, no matter that over the years people got older, fatter, grayer, balder. “Readers understand,” he’d say whenever he balked at taking a fresh picture of someone he hadn’t photographed in a decade. “It’s nostalgic for people to see how their neighbors looked a long time ago.”
As for Delbert’s own face, he rarely showed it at the Pilot, except to develop pictures, most of which, as far as I could tell, were for his sideline. I doubted those wedding pictures were for the Pilot, although I assumed-or hoped-he’d let us publish one. Henry kept him on, maybe because it was difficult to lure competent shooters to little towns with nasty winters. Delbert came through when we needed him. He also kept meticulous, alphabetized files of all the photos he’d taken in six steel file cabinets up front.
“What photos do we have for your stories?” I said.
“We could use a shot of Blackburn’s funeral,” Joanie said. “And one of Dingus.”
“I should’ve thought to have a map made of where Blackburn went down. Too late now.”
