“It’s a little early,” Irene said. “They don’t reach their peak until September or October, but the paper said it was worth a visit. Come on, let’s get to the meadow.”
As they slowly made their way down the cobblestone path, Kimberly asked, “Why do they stop here?”
“They need to rest from the long distance they have to fly over the lake. This is a perfect spot. There’s plenty of milkweed, so they can eat and continue their journey to Mexico.”
She looked up at her aunt. “They fly all the way to Mexico?”
“That’s what I hear. It sounds unbelievable, doesn’t it?”
The walkway continued through thick evergreens. The air was rich with the scent of pine. As they broke out into the sunshine of the field, Kimberly stopped and pointed to a large object. “What’s that?”
Walter turned to his sister. It looked like a large gravestone. “Good question, Kim. What is that, Irene?”
“Phillip Kahle, the movie director, has a big house near Grand Marais. His girlfriend died a few years ago and he created this monarch butterfly sanctuary in her name. She was a real animal lover.”
Walter pointed to the field. “Look, Kimmie. See the butterflies?”
“Yes! I see them.” Kimberly took a few quick steps and fell down. Irene rushed over.
“She’s all right,” Walter said. His daughter struggled to her feet and then slowly walked closer to a flock of monarch’s. He called out, “Kimberly, you can’t touch them. They’re protected. Please be careful.”
He moved closer to the large stone. It was a huge piece of granite at least eight feet high. He slowly reached out his hand and traced the name that was carved into the memorial.
BRITT ADOLFSON
BORN OCTOBER 16, 1928 MALMO, SWEDEN
DIED AUGUST 7, 1975 GRAND MARAIS, MICHIGAN
MAY YOUR SOUL BE AS FREE AS THE BUTTERFLIES IN THIS SANCTUARY
IN LOVING MEMORY
PHILLIP KAHLE
Four
At the far western edge of Palm Bay, Florida, a rusted, doublewide mobile home sat in the middle of an overgrown narrow lot. A scrawny pit bull was lying in the dirt, chained to a tree in front of a dull, metal gray airboat that was perched on top of a rickety trailer.
Inside, Dwayne Tibbs took a sip from his can of Budweiser. “Amber, can you shut up for one minute? All you’ve done is yap about some rich guy you saw over at the Bed and Breakfast.”
His sister picked up a magazine and fanned herself. “Damn, it’s hot in here.”
“I told ya the air’s on its last legs. It’s leaking Freon. If I was still working at the boat place, I could get it fixed, but waiting on you to come up with some money ain’t gettin’ nothing done around here.”
“Duh, it’s the middle of summer, genius. You think we’re busy at the B and B? Wait until November. I’ll be able to pitch in plenty, then. If I’m still here, that is.”
Dwayne turned. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Amber twirled around in a full circle. “Probably to Hollywood. Tomorrow I’m gettin’ all dolled up, and I’ll be batting my false eyelashes at that Mr. Bonaventure. He’s from the movies.”
Dwayne crushed his empty beer can and tossed it onto a pile of other empties in the overflowing garbage can. “Oh, he is, is he? Well, you might want to lose about twenty pounds tonight before your screen test in the morning.”
She reached over and punched him in the arm. “That was a terrible thing to say. You’re supposed to support your little sister.”
Dwayne opened the fridge and grabbed another beer. “You’re my sister, all right. Little…not so sure about that.”
“I had to bring him a note today. I was hoping he’d answer the door. His wife took it instead. But I peeked inside and seen him. He’s got silver grey hair all slicked back. Shawn told me he’s the guy that puts up all the money so the movies can get made. We were supposed to have a famous movie director staying there too, but he never showed.”
“Who’s Shawn? He own the place?”
Amber laughed. “No. He’s a young guy who works the desk. Sometimes he does some maintenance. If it’s something easy.”
“They must be a bunch of nut cases, is all I can say. Coming to Florida in August.” He grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face. “Shit, it’s hot in here.”
“They came for a wedding. That actress Caroline Brentwood’s marrying Mr. Bonaventure’s nephew. That’s what Shawn said.”
Dwayne’s eyebrows shot up. “Caroline Brentwood? The chick in all the horror movies? She’s staying there?”
“Yeah. She’s with her mother. Now there’s a real nut case.”
Stephen was standing in front of the large window on the west side of the library brushing paint onto a canvas.
Jeanette said, “I love it. I can’t believe how you’ve got the light breaking out of those clouds and shining on the Pictured Rocks. It’s perfect.”
Stephen stepped away from the canvas. “Thank you. I’m even happy with it, and that almost never happens. I’m surprised—.” A loud crash in the hallway interrupted him.
“What was that?” Jeanette asked.
They both rushed out to find Cora on her hands and knees picking up broken pieces of two shattered coffee cups.
Stephen bent down. “Cora, let me do that.” He carefully picked up the porcelain shards, then turned to her. “What’s wrong?”
Jeanette leaned over. “Cora, are you crying?”
Cora wiped her eyes and took in several quick breaths. “I wanted to bring you some coffee. Now look at what a mess I’ve made.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jeanette said. “We’ll help clean it up. It’s only two broken cups and a little coffee. Nothing to be upset about.”
Stephen walked back into the library and returned with a clean paint rag and a waste basket. “I’ll sop up the coffee with this.” In less than two minutes everything was picked up.
Cora composed herself. “Let me try that again. I’ll be right back with more coffee.”
As they walked back into the library, Jeanette said, “Something’s going on. It’s not like Cora to get so emotional about nothing.”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it when I heard her crying.”
Jeanette glanced toward the door. “I’m pretty sure I know what it is.”
“What?”
“It’s Barbara Jenkins. Have you heard her order Cora around?”
Stephen nodded. “I sure have, and Cora shouldn’t feel like the Lone Ranger. Barbara’s been barking out things to me, and I’ve heard her be nasty to you too. I get the feeling she thinks she’s staying in a private suite at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, and we’re all her servants.”
Jeanette nodded. “So you’ve noticed that too.”
“I sure have.”
“I’m going to have to speak to Phillip about this. It’s not fair to Cora. She’s worked here for years. She’s been wonderful. We can’t let Barbara make her life miserable.”
Stephen picked up a paintbrush. “No kidding, or ours either, for that matter.” He dabbed some cerulean blue onto his brush and then paused. “You don’t think there’s any kind of romantic thing going on between Phillip and Barbara, do you?”
“What? Romance? No…no. Oh, not at all. They’ve been friends for years.” She tilted her head. “Why would you even ask something like that?”
He put down his paintbrush and took a seat next to her. “I know. It’s a crazy idea. But she brought enough luggage to stay for six months, and…we know what kind of woman he likes. Britt and Barbara have more than a few things in common.”
Jeanette rolled her eyes. “I must admit, you’ve got a point there. But I think you’re being a little paranoid.” She fiddled with a magazine. “But, then again, why all that luggage?”
Paulie DeLuca turned as Sergeant Kitty Sovey entered the small prison library. He finished stacking a pile of books. “Thanks for getting me this job. It’s a lot cooler in here than that damn licens
e plate sweat-shop. A lot quieter too. I can almost hear myself think for once.”
“When the opening came up, I thought you’d be a good fit.”
He stepped back and stared at her. “What’d you do? Get your hair fixed or something?”
She bristled. “Why? You don’t like it?”
“Hell yeah, I like it. You look great.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Really? My husband tells me he thinks I’m getting fat.”
“Well, I guess he don’t know what a real woman looks like, does he? He must be watching too much TV with those skinny, twig-like broads that don’t have any shape at all. Shit, you go out with one of those girls, you might as well be dating some skinny boy or something.” He ran his eyes up and down her again. “I’ll take a real woman any day.”
Kitty looked at his well-defined biceps and how the front of his shirt strained against his chest. She kicked the library door closed with her foot and pushed herself against him. He wrapped her in his arms and reached for the buttons on her blouse.
Five
Kimberly Mattson picked up a dead butterfly from the garden and cupped it in her hands. She studied it for a few seconds and then slowly walked back to the house. She pushed the door open and stood next to her aunt who was having coffee at the kitchen table. “Guess what I’ve got?”
Irene looked down. “Um, I know. A worm.”
Kim laughed. “Nope.”
“Okay. I bet it’s a black-eyed Susan?”
She shook her head. “Not even close.”
Irene shrugged. “I give up. What is it?”
She slowly opened her hands. “It’s a shiny blue butterfly. It’s dead.”
Irene leaned over to get a better look. “Yep. It’s dead all right.”
“What kind is it?”
“I have no idea. Maybe we’ll have to buy you a butterfly book. Would you like that?”
Kim nodded. “Yes. I’d like to go back to the butterfly place today. Could we?”
“I don’t see why not. Where’s your father? We can ask him if he wants to come with us.”
“He’s out by the creek. Can you go get him?”
Knowing that it was hard for her niece to navigate near the rocky creek bed, Irene said, “Sure. Let’s see what he says.”
An hour later, Irene parked her car in the sanctuary parking lot. “Here we are.” Walter held open the door as his daughter got out. Several teenaged boys were throwing a football near the entrance.
Kimberly refused to take her father’s hand as they started down the cobblestone path. As they neared the boys, one of them pointed at Kim. “Hey, look. She’s got polio.” He started walking with an exaggerated limp and then moved around in circles dragging his left foot behind him.
Kimberly turned away from them and began to cry. “I want to go home. Let’s go, Daddy.”
He bent down. Should he go over and say something? “No, darling. We’re not leaving. That boy was just being hurtful and cruel. He doesn’t know any better. We can’t let him spoil our fun.” He took her hand and made sure she was on the other side of him. “Come on.”
Irene stared at the boy who had been mocking Kimberly. “I’m going over there and give that kid a good talking to.”
Walter put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t bother. He’s with his friends. He’ll probably just give you a bunch of lip. These things are going to happen. I can’t shield her from everything.”
“It’s just rude. And hateful.”
Walter stopped near the large memorial stone. “Look, Kimberly. There’s hundreds of monarchs!”
She wiped the tears from her face. “I…I’ve never seen so many.”
At Cliffside Manor, Phillip filled Barbara’s coffee cup in the dining room and walked to the kitchen to get her a slice of coffee cake that Cora had made the day before. Cora had taken the weekend off and wouldn’t be back until late the next evening.
Barbara twirled a lock of her platinum hair and then turned to Jeanette. “After breakfast, I’d like you to come over and help me with my correspondence. The studio’s forwarded a ton of fan mail, and I’ll never be able to get through it all by myself.”
Phillip set the plate down on the table. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Jeanette’s very efficient. I’m sure she can help you plow through those letters quickly.”
Stephen turned to Barbara. “About that fan mail. There’s a problem. It’s Saturday and we’re heading over to Munising to visit with Jeanette’s mother.” He looked at his watch. “Actually, we need to get moving if we’re going to get there on time.” He stood.
Jeanette got up from the table and joined him. “We’re staying the night, but I’ll be happy to help you Monday morning.”
Barbara shot Phillip a look. “Monday morning? I was hoping to get everything cleaned up this weekend. I’ll probably be getting another bunch Monday afternoon. Can’t you visit your mother some other time?”
Phillip let out a soft cough. “Um, Jeanette’s mother’s ill. It’s best they make the trip. I wasn’t aware they were leaving when I mentioned she could help you today. My mistake.”
Stephen turned to Barbara. “I’ll come over with her on Monday and see if I can help too.” He gave Jeanette a slight shove toward the door. “I’m sorry, but we’ve really got to be going.”
As they were leaving, Barbara said, “I can’t believe it. Here I am asking nicely, and you’re just going to go? Are you kidding me?” She turned to Phillip. “Do something! Stop them. You said Jeanette would help me.”
“I know, I know. But I didn’t know they had plans. I forgot it was the weekend. With this hibernation I’ve put myself into, no meetings or anything, I’ve completely lost track of what the days are.”
Barbara pushed herself away from the table. “Well, thanks for nothing. I guess I’ll just have to lock myself away in the cottage and work all day and night like some kind of dog.”
###
As Stephen pulled the car out of the driveway, he said, “Can you believe her? Thinking you had nothing better to do all weekend than to work on her fan mail.”
“I can believe it. She’s been nasty and demanding the whole time she’s been here. I’ve known her for several years. She’s always been self-centered, and she drinks way too much, but I’ve never seen her this bad.”
“She’s even got Phillip running around like a lunatic. Have you seen him?”
Jeanette nodded. “I know. It’s crazy. Remember Cora? The only reason she’s gone this weekend is to get away from Barbara.”
“This can’t continue. Phillip’s going to have to talk to her. She needs to calm down. She’s got the whole household upset.”
Half an hour later, Phillip sat at the table alone. He finished his cup of coffee. When Barbara had called him in a panic and asked if she could stay at the mansion for a while, he quickly told her yes. They had worked together for many years. How could he say no? He could tell from her voice, after she had stopped crying, that something was very wrong. Why wouldn’t she tell him anything? For Barbara to want to seclude herself at his place in the wilds of northern Michigan, 2,000 miles from Hollywood, was a real puzzlement.
Britt had loved the remoteness of Cliffside Manor. She hated the Hollywood lifestyle. Barbara was another story. She thrived on it. What was it that had made her want to get away? He set his empty cup in the kitchen sink. Maybe she’d be in the mood to talk to him.
He walked over to the cottage and knocked on the front door. “Barbara, it’s me. Let me in. We have to talk.”
A muffled voice said, “Go away. Leave me alone.”
Phillip tugged on the door handle. “Come on, Barbara. I’m not going away. Now open this door.”
After a few seconds, the door slowly swung open. Barbara appeared to have been crying. “What do you want?”
He pushed passed her and sat down. “Come here. Sit. We need to have a little talk.”
She slowly took a seat next to him.
“When yo
u called me all upset and asked if you could come and stay here, I asked you what was wrong. You said you couldn’t talk about it. That was fine. I was happy to respect your wishes. But since you’ve been here, I can tell, well everyone can tell, that you’re like a different person. You’ve been rude to Cora and Jeanette. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
Barbara wiped a wisp of hair away from her face. She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table and pulled one out. Phillip picked up a lighter and lit it for her. She inhaled deeply, turned her head, and blew out a thin stream of smoke. “It’s Johnny. I tried to break it off with him. He didn’t think that was such a good idea. I…I needed a place to be by myself and think.” She put the cigarette in an ashtray and took Phillip’s hand. “It’s great of you to let me stay here, and I know I’ve been kinda on edge the last few days.”
Phillip stood up. “Dammit, Barbara. I told you to stay away from that guy. He’s bad news. He’s a mob guy. What the hell were you thinking?”
She let out a sigh. “A lecture I don’t need. What can I say? The guy was handsome and pretty damn exciting.”
“Are you in danger?”
She reached for her cigarette. Her hand was trembling. “I don’t know.”
Phillip thought for a moment. “Do you know what’s happening this weekend?”
Barbara looked up at him. “No, what?”
“Caroline’s getting married.”
“No! To that guy she met on the Black Lagoon set?”
Phillip nodded. “Yes. I introduced them. I was supposed to go to the wedding this weekend in Florida.”
Barbara took a drag from her cigarette. “And I showed up and ruined all your plans, didn’t I?”
“Not really. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t looking forward to a summer wedding in Florida. I went to one about ten years ago, and I promised myself never again. Only thing, she’s marrying Cyrus Bonaventure’s nephew. I was looking forward to seeing Cyrus again.”
“No kidding. He’s the guy with all the dough. Johnny knows him too.”
The Monarch Graveyard Page 3
