I laid the yellowed, palm-sized pieces of paper out on the bench. They looked like they’d been scissored out of looseleaf pages. Each was inscribed in red ballpoint ink with short lists of similarly arranged letters and numbers: F/1280/SL/R4. F/1280/SL/R5. F/1280/SL/R6. They made absolutely no sense to me. I stuffed them inside my jacket and hustled out to my truck.
Leo’s mobile home sat in a clearing encircled by pines off Route 816 three miles west of town. When two sheriff’s cruisers blasted past me headed in that direction, I veered off the main road and looped behind Leo’s place on DiRosa Drive. I parked on the shoulder and trudged up a snow-covered hill. At the crest I crouched behind an oak tree with a view down to Leo’s. Dingus stood in front of the trailer directing D’Alessio, Catledge, and Darlene. They were carrying out boxes of things and stacking them in the back of a sheriff’s van. I was too far away to hear much of what they were saying, but I did catch two words-“fucking disgusting”-uttered by D’Alessio as he moved past Dingus lugging a computer monitor. They had filled up most of the back of the van before they locked Leo’s door and pulled away.
Driving back to town, I tried to imagine Leo on the lam. It was ludicrous. Leo hadn’t left Starvation Lake for more than a weekend in thirty years. He hated driving cars because he had to sit. Leo drove a Zamboni; he liked to stand. He used to joke about cutting a hole in the roof of his car so he could stand while he drove. As I eased to a stop in front of the high school, I remembered how, when Leo was resurfacing the ice, we’d be perched at the rink’s edge, Soupy and Teddy and me and the other Rats, dying to jump on, and Leo would be making slow circles like an old lady in a church parking lot. Just before he pulled off, he’d yell at us, “Not one skate out here until I say, or I’ll do it all over again.” And we’d wait while the fresh water hardened. Leo said that’s what it took to put down a great sheet, and Leo put down a great sheet. It stayed hard and smooth and slick even after we’d chewed it up for an hour.
“Fucking disgusting,” D’Alessio had said. And a computer? I had no idea that Leo, who wouldn’t even get himself a new police radio, was interested in computers. If he really had fled, I hoped it was just irrational panic and not guilt that drove him. But even if he was just afraid, even if he really wasn’t Blackburn’s murderer, he evidently knew something no one else knew, or why would he have run? Again I thought of the Rats waiting to jump onto the ice, Leo on the Zamboni, Coach behind the bench. I remembered peering out at that little world through the eyeholes of my goalie mask. What had I failed to see?
eighteen
When I walked into the auditorium at Pine County High School, Teddy Boynton was on his feet, in a business suit, calmly addressing the five members of the zoning board. I slipped into a folding chair in the back and scanned the room. About seventy people were in attendance. Soupy Campbell was not one of them. Nor was Francis Dufresne.
Soupy needed to be there. After months of dithering, the board finally was disposed to grant the variance Teddy Boynton needed to build his marina. Most people thought it would provide an economic boost, and plenty were fed up with the erratic service at Soupy’s marina. The board members liked Soupy, though-most had known his dad-and they wanted to be sure Soupy was taken care of before they effectively handed his future to Boynton.
“…found a way to invest a few more dollars to address the environmental concerns that the board has raised,” Teddy was saying. His lawyer, Fleming, sat at his right elbow. The board listened from behind a long table draped with a green felt banner bearing the legend “Your Zoning Board of Appeals: Smart Growth Good Growth.” Teddy brandished a large manila envelope. “The board has talked about an amount in the neighborhood of fifty thousand dollars. If the board can compromise a bit, we can pledge ten thousand dollars now and the rest over the next three years. We are committed to making the Pines the most environmentally friendly marina in Michigan.” Boynton laid the envelope in front of the chairman, Floyd Kepsel. I was recalling what Francis Dufresne had told me about Teddy’s precarious financial position.
“In addition, Mr. Chairman,” Teddy continued, “we have come to an amicable agreement with Mr. Campbell and the Starvation Lake Marina. We recognize that the old marina, though sorely in need of renovation, is a treasured local resource, and our fervent wish is to work closely with Mr. Campbell, not against him, toward the betterment of our community. Mr. Campbell now agrees, and has indicated his desire to withdraw his concerns with our project.”
A murmur rose in the room and heads craned around, all looking for Soupy. Teddy himself surveyed the room and our eyes met briefly, but he looked through me and turned back to the board.
“Well, Ted,” Chairman Kepsel said, “not that I doubt your word, but I’d sure like to have Mr. Campbell here to vouch for himself.”
Teddy reached into his suit jacket and produced a thin white envelope. “I agree that would be best, Mr. Chairman, but we have it here in writing.” He handed the envelope to Kepsel.
I sat up in my chair. Kepsel slipped a single sheet of paper from the envelope, read it quickly, and passed it to the board member to his left, Vice Chairman Ralph Dexter. Dexter read it and handed it back.
“There’s just one sentence here, Ted,” Kepsel said. “For the record, I’ll read it: ‘I, Alden Campbell, hereby withdraw my opposition and urge the zoning board to extend to Boynton Realty Corporation the requested zoning variance necessary to enable development of the Pines at Starvation Lake.’ Dated Sunday. Yesterday.”
“It isn’t even notarized,” Dexter said.
Fleming stood. Boynton motioned for him to sit. “Mr. Chairman,” Teddy said. “We’ve been in negotiations with Mr. Campbell for several weeks. We are deeply concerned about the future of the Starvation Lake Marina, and we’ve made several proposals to address that. Yesterday we finally-”
“Excuse me, sir,” Dexter interrupted, “but I fail to see what’s in this for Mr. Campbell.”
“Vice Chairman Dexter,” Teddy said, “we haven’t quite worked out those details in writing yet, but we will very soon.”
Dexter sat back and spread his arms wide. “Very soon? But you expect us to grant your variance now, and then when ‘very soon’ turns into a month or two or three and Mr. Campbell shows up later telling us he hasn’t withdrawn a thing, his lawsuit will just be our problem, right?”
“No, sir, we fully intend-”
“Well, I think it will be our problem, Mr. Boynton, I think it will be.”
A lengthy discussion followed. I kept looking for Soupy. Why wasn’t he here? Had he changed his mind and accepted that settlement I’d seen when I sneaked into his office? If he had, why didn’t Boynton just spell it out?
Kepsel finally rapped his gavel. “I would dearly love to get this business behind us, Ted,” he said. “But I do wish Mr. Campbell was here. We’d all like to hear a little more about this settlement. I know you’d like to see a vote, but I’m afraid it might not come out how you’d like just yet. How soon do you think you can have an agreement all wrapped up?”
“Twenty-four hours, Mr. Chairman. But I don’t see why-”
“That’d be fine, Ted,” Kepsel said. “You wrap that up and we’ll reconvene the board tomorrow for a vote.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Teddy said. He wrung his hands together behind his back. “The board asked for an additional commitment to the environment. We have provided that. You asked us to consider the future of the Starvation Lake Marina. We did. We’re prepared to move forward and, frankly, we’re at a loss to understand why we would be delayed by, of all things, the very sort of irresponsible behavior that has created the need for a new marina.”
Dexter spoke again. “If we gave you the variance this minute, how long would it be before the first shovel went into the ground?”
Maybe it was because of what I’d heard from Francis, but I thought Teddy hesitated before he said, “We can’t do a thing until we have the variance, Mr. Vice Chairman. But when we do, I can assure you we’ll move forward expeditiously.”
“Uh-huh,” Dexter said. “And where’s Francis today, Mr. Boynton?”
The muscle along Teddy’s right jawbone twitched. Fleming jumped up and said, “Mr. Dufresne had another pressing matter to attend to but sent his best wishes that the board would act in our favor.”
