She laughed and pushed him away. “Would you be serious.”
“I’m seriously thinking if you really love this house, and knowing how much I truly love you, and even though I haven’t even seen the rest of this place, it’s just a matter of time before I’ll just have to love this house… so, I may as well get started now.”
“Honey, don’t you just love it?” she asked, giving him a look he knew he could never resist.
“Can I at least see the bedroom?” he asked.
Connor Harris sat in the office of Sheriff Willy Potts with his father. The old sheriff was nearing his 70’s and moved slowly around his desk to take a seat. He settled back slowly, allowing his wide bottom to ease into the cushioned leather chair. His round belly pushed out over the shiny black belt that wrapped around his vast middle. His .45 caliber revolver was strapped to his side. He put his coffee cup down and looked across the desk at the two men. Taking a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, he dabbed at the perpetual sweat that broke out across his brow. “Sounds like we had a little trouble last night, gentlemen.”
“It was more than a little trouble, Potts!” the elder Harris said. “It was my damn daughter, and I want that sonofabitch arrested now!”
“Now let’s not jump to any rash conclusions here, Warren,” the sheriff said calmly. “I know your daughter claims this Truegood boy took advantage of her, but she obviously had a lot to drink and I’m wondering what she really can remember clearly.”
“I don’t believe this!” Connor yelled, his face turning a bright red as his rage burned. “Are you going to bring this kid in, or not?”
“I’ve got some of my men out looking for him right now. We’ll have a little talk with young Sammy and get his side of the story.”
“Dammit, Potts! If this was your daughter, would you be moving so slow on this?” Warren Harris said, his face flushed with anger.
“Let’s see,” he said calmly, “my daughter stopped drinking entire bottles of whiskey and chasing boys down on the beach about 35 years ago.”
This response only infuriated the two Harris men even more. Connor stood up quickly, knocking his chair back behind him across the floor. “Let’s go find this asshole ourselves!”
“Unless you want to find your own ass in this jail, son, you leave this to me and my men,” the sheriff warned. “Am I clear on this?”
Warren Harris stood up next to his son. Pointing at the nose of the portly old sheriff, he spoke in a low menacing tone. “You will bring this boy in and do what’s right, godammit!”
They both turned and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind them.
Sheriff Potts picked up his coffee mug and took a long drink. He stood staring at the closed door. Shaking his head, he spoke softly to himself, “This is gonna be a damn mess.”
Chapter Five
It was a morning of fresh promise. The sun had risen above the tree line across the shore of Round Lake. Low clouds and fog lying on the lake down towards Boyne City were slowly dispersing, leaving a clear brilliant blue sky. Runners and early dog walkers were already out on the streets of Charlevoix. A late-night patron of one of the town’s bars hadn’t made it back to his boat at the docks. He woke with a startled expression on the lawn of the park that sloped down to the small inland harbor. He rubbed his eyes and looked around in surprised confusion. One of the workers from the Harbormaster’s office came over to help him up and get him back to his boat.
Sally smiled as she watched the man stumble down the hill toward the long line of big cruising and sailing yachts. She sat on one of the park benches at the top of the hill with a cup of coffee in her hand. The warmth of the paper cup felt good in the early chill of the morning. One of the larger sailboats that was kept each summer over at the docks near the Belvedere Club was backing out of its slip. She watched as the long shiny blue hull knifed silently back across the calm surface of Round Lake. A man was at the wheel pointing to a woman at the mast who was working to take the cover off the mainsail. The boat turned and made a course for the drawbridge. Sally looked at her watch and saw that it was 7:25. The bridge would be coming up in just five minutes, allowing the first boats to make their way out to Lake Michigan.
She thought back to the night before of restless sleep, worrying about Alex and the visit from Louis Kramer. She had only left New York two days earlier, but already she missed her husband. She was also terribly concerned about the problems with his business and the betrayal by his partner. She tried not to dwell on the nagging sense of jealousy about Alex’s lawyer, Anna. Come on, Sally.
Motion to her left caught her attention. She looked over and saw a runner coming down the sidewalk. It took only a moment to recognize Mary Alice Gregory. Their eyes met and Mary Alice slowed and then walked around on the lawn in front of Sally. She was rail thin and her deep brown tan was on full display in short jogging shorts and a black sports bra. Her hair was pulled back from her face and held in a small ponytail. Sally struggled to be gracious at the interruption.
“Well, Sally Thomason. Welcome back for another summer in God’s Country.”
“Good morning,” was all Sally could manage, trying her best to smile.
“It’s nice to see you back in Charlevoix. I noticed the EmmaLee out on the water when I flew into town the other day. Where is Alex?” she asked, looking around.
“He’s still in New York. He’ll be up in a day or so.” Sally tried to block old resentments and suspicions of Mary Alice and an affair with Sally’s former husband many years earlier.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Louie flew in last night and surprised me,” Mary Alice said.
“Yes, I know. He stopped over to see me at the house.” Sally couldn’t resist letting the comment lay out there without explanation.
Mary Alice got a very surprised look on her face. “He what?”
“He hasn’t told you about the problems with the business in New York?” If there was anything good about this whole mess, it was catching this woman uninformed, Sally thought.
Mary Alice tried quickly to regain her composure and cover her first reaction. “Oh, I’m sure Louie mentioned something about it. I just try to keep my nose out of all the business nonsense.”
“Well, you might want to talk to him about it again. It’s more than just a little nonsense. The company is being investigated by the SEC and Alex and Louis are in a lot of trouble.” She couldn’t leave it at that. “Your husband is apparently responsible for some very questionable decisions and bookkeeping.”
Mary Alice smiled with a big grin to show that Sally couldn’t possibly upset her. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing serious with those two boys. How many fortunes have they made already?”
“Really, Mary Alice, this is truly a mess and your husband came to see me to try to convince me to have Alex help him.”
Mary Alice was having more trouble trying to hide her displeasure at not knowing about any of this and particularly of her husband’s visit to Sally’s house the previous night. “Sally, you really shouldn’t worry so. I need to get on with my run, but we must get together for drinks when both the boys get up here, don’t you think?”
Sally couldn’t hold back her irritation, “Didn’t you hear anything I just said?”
Mary Alice dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Really, I’ll call you. We’ll have you out to my parent’s place. They had it remodeled over the winter and it’s just lovely. You have to see it.”
Sally just shook her head as Mary Alice ran off down the street. The alarm at the drawbridge sounded and the barriers came down. She watched as the two sections of the bridge started to slowly rise. The mast of the big blue sailboat soon made its way through the open channel.
Megan Clark walked up onto the deck of the EmmaLee. She brushed her hair back away from her face and rubbed her eyes to clear the hazy effects of a long night’s sleep. She had a cup of hot coffee in her hand from the ship’s galley. A blue sweatshirt covered her swimsuit, goose bumps breaki
ng out on her bare legs. Walking to the side rail of the ship, she watched the morning coming to life on the quiet harbor. Small Zodiac dinghies with outboards buzzed about the bigger yachts at anchor. Fishing boats adorned with rods and baits flashing in the early sunlight, worked their way toward the channel out to Lake Michigan. The orange Coast Guard skiff cruised slowly around the perimeter of the lake, waving to early risers coming out on the decks of their boats.
Megan yawned and placed the coffee mug down on the rail and stretched her arms high over her head. She wondered about Sally and her night alone in the old house. She remembered the first time she had gone there as a little girl with her father. She played in the backyard and ran down the low dunes to the lake. Sally’s paintings were displayed all through the house, including the canvas of her daughter, Ellen.
Soon after Sally had married her father, Megan sat down with her one day on her bed and Sally shared the story of the tragic accident that had taken the lives of Ellen, as well as Sally’s parents, Jonathan and Emily. The boat they were cruising on was lost in a bad storm off the Manitou Islands down near Leland. Megan could still remember the service her father arranged out on Lake Michigan near the Manitous to honor their passing. That was the day she recalled first feeling so much love for Sally Thomason.
Megan had lost her own mother to cancer just a few years before that. She had been only nine years old, twelve when Sally came into their lives. As the years passed, she found it harder to remember her mother; the sound of her voice, what her hair felt like, what she liked to wear. It was a deep hole in her heart Megan knew could never be filled.
She felt the sun on her neck and decided it was warm enough to take a quick swim. Stairs had been placed at an opening in the rail with a small platform at the bottom for guests to arrive by boat, or for swimmers to easily get in and out of the water. She walked down the steps along the side of the big ship, running her hands along white hull illuminated by the sun’s glare off the water. At the bottom, she stood on the platform and took off her sweatshirt. She didn’t dare dip a toe into the water, knowing how cold it would be. This early in the summer you had to dive in all at once and let the shock take its effects quickly. She did just that, diving out into the green water. The cold was like a thousand needles biting into every inch of her skin, but she dove deep, marveling at the wonderful joy of being at the lake again after a long winter out East.
When her lungs were about to burst and the numbness in her arms and legs was almost unbearable, she turned for the surface, breaking through and taking a huge breath of air. The water on top, now warmed by the early morning sun, felt almost comfortable compared to the icy depths she had just endured. She kicked off away from the boat and began swimming smoothly across the calm water, leaving a gentle wake behind her. Her years on the swim team in school were pleasant memories of good friends and fun trips to other private schools around the New York and Connecticut area. College now loomed in the fall and she was still undecided about continuing to swim competitively. The long hours of training before classes and then again in the evenings had been more and more difficult to manage.
She had been accepted last fall to three different schools, finally deciding on Dartmouth where her father had attended. With the excitement of high school graduation just beginning to fade, the reality of starting college in a few months was both exhilarating and frightening at the same time.
Noticing another boat coming near, Megan turned and started back toward the EmmaLee. She pulled herself up on the platform and used the sweatshirt to dry herself. Rubbing it through her hair, she turned and watched as a small runabout came towards her, moving slowly in from the direction of Lake Charlevoix. The sun’s glare on the windshield prevented her from seeing who was driving the boat. As it pulled up to the big ship, it turned sideways and eased along the side of the platform. Megan could now see it was Will Truegood and she smiled as she reached out to help guide the boat to a stop.
“Aren’t you out a little early?” she asked.
“Aren’t you in the water a little early?” he replied. “That water has to be 50 degrees!”
“Feels like 40,” she said and laughed. “What are you doing?”
Will turned off the ignition to the boat, an old wooden runabout powered by an ancient looking green, 20 horsepower Johnson outboard. Three fishing poles were leaned against one side, tucked under the middle seat.
“Doing a little smallmouth fishing before the sun got up too high. Soon as that sun touches the water, those little devils hide deep and get lockjaw.”
“Is this your boat,” Megan asked.
“Yeah, I keep it down at Horton Bay,” Will said. “I have a friend who lets me keep it there on the beach.”
“Seems like a long way down from Horton Bay to go fishing.”
“Oh, I’ve been out half the night working my way along the shore, hitting all the good ledges and holes. Thought I’d head out the channel to try the ends of the piers.”
“Didn’t catch much I see,” she said, looking at the empty deck of the boat.
“I let ‘em all go. Don’t like to eat bass anyway,” he answered, turning up his nose. “Hey, you want to come along out to the big lake? Should be calm for another hour or so before the wind comes up.”
“You mean go fishing?” Megan asked.
“Yeah, come on. You got a license?”
She nodded. “I get one every summer to fish off the boat.”
“Get some dry clothes on and let’s get out there. Might even catch a summer-run steelhead. Crazy things will pull us halfway across the lake.”
Megan looked down at Will Truegood in his old fishing boat, sitting on a worn boat cushion, faded jeans with holes in the knees and a few other places. His long black hair was blowing loose in the light morning breeze. He kept brushing it back from his eyes. She was having a hard time looking away from his eyes.
Thoughts of her conversation the night before with her friend Rebecca about seeing Will and what her friend Rick Brandtley might think, raced through her mind for a moment before she said, “I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes later, Megan was sitting on the front seat of Will’s boat as they motored slowly under the blue metal grid of the drawbridge heading out the channel to Lake Michigan. As cars passed overhead, a loud roar from the tires drowned out the rumble of the small outboard engine. Several people stood along the rail of the bridge waiting to see the big boats head out on the half hour. No one paid much attention to the old fishing boat.
The small boat cut through the smooth rolling swells coming in from the lake. They cruised past the Weathervane restaurant with its classic stone façade. The balconies and decks would soon be filled with the summer lunch crowd. A large cruising yacht was coming toward them down the channel, moving faster than the no-wake zone would suggest, pushing large waves out behind it. Will yelled out, “Hold on, this might be a little rocky for the old girl here.”
Will’s boat rose up on the first of the waves and then dipped quickly down the other side, nosing right into the next wave, taking on water over the bow. Will just laughed as Megan unsuccessfully tried to cover herself from getting soaked from the spray. Pushing wet hair away from her face, she yelled at the skipper of the cruiser, “Slow down, you crazy maniac!” but the boat was already gone.
The next two waves were smaller and they continued on. Will just laughed again. “I don’t think they even saw us. Probably a Bloody Mary cruise and they’re already half in the bag.”
Megan started laughing, too. “So much for dry clothes.”
“Are you ready to fish?” he asked.
She nodded, looking around not quite sure what to do.
“Grab that rod there and start throwing that plug up against the break wall and then reel it back in fast.” He reached over to show her which fishing rod and then helped her free the bait hook from the worn cork handle of the rod. Steering the boat with his knee on the throttle arm of the outboard, he showed her how to cast t
he plug and retrieve it.
Her first cast didn’t release the line and the bait snapped back and hit the side of the boat. She looked at him helplessly.
“Take your finger off the line when you throw the bait,” he said calmly.
She tried again and this time the bright orange plug sailed out beautifully over the channel landing right next to the metal break wall. Her eyes were open wide and she yelled in victory, “Now, how about that?”
“Well done. Well done,” Will said. “Now start reeling.”
She turned the handle of the reel fast and felt the plug dive deep and pull back against the rod with a jittering motion that shook down through to her hands. In seconds, the bait was back against the top of the rod and she cast again. The bait again fell with a splash near the side of the channel and she started reeling again. “How will I know when there’s a fish on?” she asked.
“Oh, if it’s a steelhead, there won’t be much doubt,” he answered.
Not two seconds later Megan yelped as the rod was almost pulled out of her hands, the tip arching down toward the water. “Ohmigod, what do I do!” she shrieked.
“Just let her run! Let her run!” Will yelled out. The reel was singing a high-pitched tune as the line flew out after the fish. The boat was nearing the end of the north pier and the fish was heading out to open water. “Don’t try to stop her, Megan. We’ll go after her.”
“How would I stop it? It feels like a whale!” she shouted.
“Just hold on, she’ll slow down.” They cleared the channel and continued following the fishing line that was stretched out far ahead of them. Will looked around for other boat traffic and then sped up to chase the fish. “Reel just enough to keep the line tight. We don’t want any slack,” he instructed. “We’ll catch up with her.”
The Summer Town Page 5
