16
THERE WERE CHORES TO BE DONE when we got back to Denny’s Cabins. Given how rattled I was, it was good to have something to do. I emptied cans of garbage, hauled a pail full of fish guts up to the pit in the woods and buried it, cut some grass on Dad’s racing tractor, taking care to go easy on the throttle. Sitting on the mower, the vibrations from the engine and the three rapidly rotating blades in the housing below my feet had a calming effect on me that was not unlike a massage. The constant buzz from the steering wheel traveled up my arms and into my shoulders like magic fingers.
I said barely a word to Dad on the drive back from town. Sometimes, I think, when I’m scared-and I’ll be totally honest with you here and tell you I was plenty scared-the things I’m afraid of seem more real if I start talking about them. I ground my teeth until we got back to the camp, bolted from the truck, forgetting to go around the other side to help Dad get out, and went about my duties.
There’d been plenty to unnerve me since arriving here earlier in the week. The shredded body of Morton Dewart. The bizarre dinner at the Wickenses. Those dogs. The murder of Tiff at the co-op, which might or might not have anything whatsoever to do with the events of the last few days.
But nothing had shaken me as much as my run-in with Timmy Wickens on the main drag of Braynor. There’d been menace in the air before, but now I felt it directed at me personally. And I am not, as you may have gathered by now, what you might call a heroic figure.
I believe the term I used in my conversation with Trixie Snelling was “weenie-like.”
It’s a terrible thing to be weenie-like and still have, at some level, some commitment to do the right thing. A moral conscience matched with physical cowardice is not a winning combination.
“How’s it going?” Bob Spooner asked, poking his head into the storeroom, where I was checking to see how the worm supply was going. Betty and Hank Wrigley had helped themselves to a couple dozen that morning while Dad and I were in town, and left a note to that effect so that we could add it to their bill.
I jumped. “Jesus, Bob, you scared me half to death.”
“What’s with you? You seem a bit on edge.”
I just waved my hand in the air in frustration. “Long story, Bob.”
“Hey,” he said. “You’ll never guess who I had on my line this morning.”
“What?” I said. “Who?”
“She took another run at me. Audrey. Saw her break the surface, knew it was her. Almost had her in the boat this time before she spit the plug out.” He rubbed his hands together.
“One of these days, Bob,” I said.
“You know what I think?” Bob said, leaning in the doorway. “I think she knows. I think she knows it’s me. She’s a smart fish, and she’s a mean fish, and she’s playing with me. I can feel it.”
“Maybe,” I said. I dug my fingers through the dirt, drew them up. Still lots of little wiggly guys in there.
“You ever have a goal like that? Something you’ve waited years to achieve? That’s what Audrey is to me. Hauling her into the boat, that’s my ultimate dream. I get her, I could give up fishing after that. It wouldn’t matter anymore. They could put me in a box, drop me six feet into ground, toss the dirt in.”
“My goals these days are rather short-term, Bob,” I said. “I want to see Dad get back on his two feet and me get the hell out of here.”
Bob cocked his head curiously. “What’s up?”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to dump all this stuff on you. This is your vacation up here. Enjoy it. Go fishing. Hunt down Audrey. Whatever problems Dad and I have to deal with, well, we’ll deal with them.”
Bob shrugged. “You need to talk things over, you know where to find me. Think I’ll grab myself a nap, go back out again this aft. Leonard keeps wanting to hang out, go fishing or hiking. All he wants to do is talk about this goddamn resort of his. If he actually gets to build that thing, this lake won’t be worth a shit anymore. Your dad thought of lodging any sort of objection with the Braynor council?”
“I think Dad sort of has his hands full at the moment.”
“Well, if he gets a minute, he should do that. The only way you can stop something like that is to mount some sort of opposition.”
“Bob, I hear ya. You might want to mention it to Dad yourself.”
He mulled that one over. “Yeah, good idea.”
Bob stepped aside to let me out of the storeroom. I strode over to Dad’s cabin, throwing the door open so hard it hit the wall. “Dad!”
“In here,” he said. He was in his study, hanging up the phone. “I’ve been calling some other lawyers. I tried two other ones in Braynor, figuring I’d try to get someone close before going to other towns, and the moment I mention who I want them to send a letter to, they say they’re too busy.”
“This town’s scared of the Wickenses,” I said. “I’m scared of the Wickenses.”
“Maybe I should drop it. If those people really had anything to do with setting that other lawyer’s house on fire, I mean, do I need those kinds of problems?”
“I don’t know, Dad.”
“And by the way, what the hell happened out front of Lana’s, anyway?”
I ignored the question. I didn’t want to talk about it. “Here’s an idea, Dad. Why don’t you put this place on the market and sell? Get the hell out of here. Fast as possible. Buy another fishing camp someplace else.”
“That’s your plan? To run away? And who do you think would buy this place, knowing they were going to inherit tenants like the Wickenses?”
I ran a hand over the back of my neck, tried to massage it. I was feeling a bit tense.
“I think we need to have another chat with Orville,” I said. “A really serious chat. I’m willing to put aside the fact that he seems to be a total asshole to see if we can get something done here. There are more things going on than I realized at first.”
“Like what?”
I told him about May Wickens and her son. How she desperately wanted to get away from her father. How her son was on a daily curriculum of hate and prejudice.
“How’s that your problem?” Dad asked. “Don’t we have enough problems without taking on hers? I want them all out of there, and I guess that would include her and her boy. She can figure out how to get away once they’ve moved someplace else.”
I was silent. There wasn’t much to admire in what Dad said, but it made a lot of sense just the same.
“You got a number for Orville?” I asked.
Dad dug out an address book next to his computer, folded it open to a particular page, and handed it to me. “This his cell?” I asked, and Dad nodded. I punched the number into the phone on Dad’s desk.
“Hello?”
“Orville? Zack Walker.”
“What,” he said flatly.
“Listen, I’m sorry about everything at the cafe. I think you and I need to get past all that crap, because there’s a real problem out here, has to do with the daughter at the Wickens place. May. That’s her name. I think she’s in real trouble and I think we need to find some way to help her out. I’m willing to stop being a pain in the ass to you if you’ll come out so we can talk about this.”
“I kinda got my hands full with a murder investigation,” he said. “Remember?”
“I understand. Are you still coming out here tomorrow morning to look for the bear?” I kept any skeptical tone out of my voice.
“Depends. On how things go with Tiff’s murder. But if I get a chance, I’ll swing by later this afternoon, about this other problem of yours.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” And I hung up. I picked up the phone again, impulsively, and dialed Sarah’s number at
“Hey,” I said.
“How’s your dad?”
“Okay.”
“Say hi to him for me.”
