“Will, really, I’ve never had a fish like this on before,” Megan said, breathlessly. “A few bluegills and bass off the side of my dad’s boat, but this really feels like a whale!”
“You’re doing fine,” he yelled over the roar of the outboard. “Most people fish half their life to catch a steelhead. You just hooked up in two casts. You’ve got the touch, girl.”
“Let’s just get this thing in!”
Will slowed the boat and Megan began reeling faster to keep the line taut. Now she could really feel the throbbing pull of the fish as it dove deep and shook its head to free the hook in its jaw. She turned as Will came up behind her. Reaching around, he grabbed the reel. “Let me check the drag.” He turned the knob a few clicks.
She felt his arm around her middle and for a moment, forgot about the big fish. He pulled back and reached for a net tucked on the side of the boat.
“Start trying to gain on her,” he said. “Keep reeling until she tries to make another hard run.”
Megan felt sweat running down her forehead and dripping off her chin. The drops fell on her bare thighs. She focused on the pull of the fish and reeling as fast as she could, stopping only when the fish ran again, or when Will told her to wait. She was surprised when the line went suddenly slack and she groaned thinking it was lost, only to see the fish fly up out of the water, 20 yards out from the boat. Its silver sides with a bright red stripe sparkled in the sun and water flew in all directions as it crashed back down into the lake.
“Holy cow!” she yelled with a gasp. And then within just a minute the fish began to noticeably tire, and she reeled even faster. Then it was along side the boat, lying on its side. Will reached over with the net and carefully slid it under the fish and then lifted it up out of the water.
They both yelled at the same time and Megan came over the seat and gave him a hug as he tried to hang on to the fish and the net. They both nearly fell overboard as the small boat rocked back and forth.
“Congratulations, Miss Clark, on your first Lake Michigan steelhead.”
“Oh, we don’t have a camera,” she said, looking around the boat.
“No, but we’ll never forget this fish, will we?” he said. “Do you want to release her?”
“Yes, I want to do it,” Megan said.
They both leaned carefully over the side and Will pulled the hook barb out with a pair of pliers and then eased the fish out of the net, holding it behind the gills and down by the tail. He handed it over to Megan and he showed her how to work it slowly back and forth to get water and oxygen moving through its gills. “When will I know she’s ready?” Megan asked.
“Oh, you’ll know.”
And then the fish lurched with a giant splash, getting them both in the face and was gone. Megan sat there in the bottom of the boat, her arms hanging over the side. The cool water lapped at her fingers and she felt the slime of the fish as she rubbed her hands together. She turned and saw Will smiling at her. She took a deep breath and realized how drained she felt from the excitement of the chase and pull of the big fish.
“You fight fish pretty good for a city girl,” he said.
Alex Clark ran out of the park up onto Central Park South and then past the entrance to the Plaza Hotel. He slowed at the next corner to wait for traffic to clear and then continued on, running along the curb to avoid the steady flow of people on their way to work. His gray sweatshirt was drenched dark around the neck with sweat and his face was deeply flushed and dripping. The city was coming back to life after the quiet of the earlier morning when he had started out on his run. He saw his coffee shop up ahead and slowed to a walk to give himself a few moments to start catching his breath. With hands on his hips he gulped in large breaths of air. He felt the rapid beating of his heart through his chest and it gave him a warming sense of satisfaction he had finished a good workout.
He walked through the doors of the small coffee shop, slowing to let his eyes adjust to the low light. The heavy aroma of coffee swept over him and then he saw his lawyer, Anna Bataglia, sitting at a table in the far corner. He waived and then stood in line to order his coffee. He pointed at her cup, suggesting she might want a refill. She shook her head no.
When he joined her, she made no effort to get up to greet him. “Morning, how was your run?” she said.
“Great, now that it’s over,” he answered, sitting next to her at the small table. He took a long sip from his coffee, not caring it was burning the inside of his mouth.
She pulled out a folder from her bag and set it down between them. “I wish I had better news.”
Alex looked around the shop. There was no one near who could overhear their conversation. “Why am I not surprised?” He looked at her for a few moments, trying to read her emotions. She was dressed for a day at the office, a crisp gray suit with a white shirt open at the neck. Her long black hair was gathered up on top of her head. He had become practiced in not letting himself get distracted by the striking beauty of her face. “Tell me you were able to at least get a little more time to prepare.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. We have to go ahead with the schedule they’ve already laid out. There will be a preliminary hearing in about two weeks.”
Alex had an empty feeling in his gut, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar. “Have you talked to Lou’s attorney?”
“They’re stalling.” She answered.
“Of course,” he said, trying to remain calm. “Sally called last night from Charlevoix. Louis stopped by her house and tried to convince her he had done nothing wrong.”
“That must have been quite a performance.” She took a sip from her coffee cup, holding it in two hands and letting the aroma work up into her face. “We have to get to Littlefair,” she said, referring to the company CFO.”
“If we only knew where the hell he is.”
“Well,” she answered, “there are a lot of people out there looking for him, including the FBI and half the Attorney General’s office investigators. I’ve got one of our firm’s hired hands out on the trail, too.”
“Until we get a chance to get Bobby Littlefair to open up about what in the hell they were trying to pull, I won’t have a prayer in court,” Alex said. “They’re not going to believe I didn’t know what was going on. If you remember, those Enron guys couldn’t pull that crap and I sure as hell won’t be able to.”
Anna looked back at him with an angry and insistent stare. The look in her deep brown eyes made him feel like she could see all the way through to his soul. “You need to step back and realize your future on the right side of a prison wall is going to depend on your ability to believe and communicate you are 100% goddamned innocent.”
Sheriff Elam Stone stood on the bridge leading across to Holy Island and looked down the South Arm of Lake Charlevoix toward East Jordan. His mind was working hard to envision the day George Hansen had been sitting on this quiet bay in his boat fishing. He saw the harsh reflections of the midday sun on the chop of the water. Two children ran in and out of the lake down the bay on the lee side of the island. Their mother sat in a beach chair reading a book, seemingly oblivious to their activity. A few boats were anchored in the bay, no owners or activity apparent on any of them. Above him to the right, the wind was lifting off the big lake from the west and blowing surly gusts through the tops of the cottonwoods, oaks and maples. There was a pungent smell of decay in the slack water where the lily pads pushed up and the bottom weeds were already beginning to lose their battle for clear water and sun to the algae flushing out across the surface.
Stone was a simple and straightforward man. He had lived in this county his whole life, graduating from Boyne City High School and then moving on to college down in Traverse City. He knew he wanted to be an officer of the law from the time he was a small child. In school, he worked part time as a security guard to help pay for tuition, but also because he just liked being in a uniform with a badge on it. Family connections helped him get his first job with t
he Sheriff’s Department some twenty years ago. His hard work and good fortune in avoiding any serious controversy during his long career had allowed him to gradually rise in rank and pay grade and he was generally respected by those in the department.
He found his career satisfying enough, although the pace was slow and the cases often dull and mind-numbing. Kids partying too late and a few drunks out driving when they should be home in bed were the typical situations in his day-to-day. He often found himself daydreaming in his patrol car, sitting by the side of the road with the radar gun blinking at him as cars passed unnoticed. There had been some occasional excitement over the years. He had helped on a big drug bust in a condominium complex down in Mancelona. They had come away with several kilos of cocaine and five local bad guys sent away a long time for dealing. Then there was the bank robbery and hostage situation over in Antrim County. He remembered trying to calm his nerves and keep his shotgun from shaking as he kept it pointed at the front door of the bank with 20 other state, county and local cops. The guy finally came out when he ran out of cigarettes.
In his mind, though, he knew it was just a matter of time until he came across the ultimate case here in Charlevoix. He couldn’t help but think there was a big case out there with his name on it; picture in the paper, commendations, admiring glances from the people around town.
All these thoughts swirled through Sheriff Stone’s brain as he stood on the Holy Island Bridge looking down the bay. How the hell does George Hansen end up dead in his boat down there with his lungs full of lake water?
The Sheriff’s Department lake patrol boat would be arriving any minute with divers to search the area around where the boat was found anchored with George Hansen’s lifeless body.
Chapter Six
I remember our last trip together on the EmmaLee that summer in ’52, like it was yesterday. Not long after, the Compton’s sold the big ship and it was taken out east, not to return for over fifty years.
Jonathan McKendry stood in the pilot house with Emily and the ship’s captain, Miles Roberts, his hands resting on the big wheel of the ship. He looked out ahead as he carefully steered the EmmaLee through the channel into Lake Charlevoix. It was just before noon on a Saturday and the boat traffic was heavy coming and going from Round Lake. Emily stood close holding on to his right arm, wind coming in from the open side hatches blowing her hair around her face.
Her father, Stewart Compton, came into the cabin followed by a crewman with a tray full of drinks. Emily reached for an iced tea and handed it to Jonathan to take a drink. The elder Compton held a chilled glass of whiskey over ice that was about half gone. “Where we off to, Skipper?” he asked.
“With the wind out of the northwest, the cove down at Horton Bay will be dead calm and quiet and perfect for a picnic on the beach this afternoon,” Jonathan answered. “We might even find some fish moving around near the creek late afternoon when the shadows come up.”
Captain Roberts just nodded and smiled as he looked back at his boss, Stewart Compton.
“Sounds just fine, Johnny,” said Compton.
“Daddy, did you see George and Liz come onboard?” asked Emily. “They joined us at the last minute when George decided he could get away from the office for a few hours on a Saturday.”
“Yes dear, I said hello to them back in the rear of the ship. They were reading and drinking some cold tea.”
“Did you hear George has agreed to represent Sammy Truegood in that case with the Harris’s daughter?”
Her father’s expression changed noticeably and a flush of red spread quickly across his loose jowls. “How on Earth did George get involved with all of that?” he asked.
Emily came over beside him and put her arm around his big shoulders. “Daddy, you know George has been friends with their family ever since Sammy’s grandpa helped …” She didn’t finish the sentence, realizing her husband, Jonathan, was listening and would be in no mood to let a conversation about the tragic death of George’s sister, Catherine, ruin such a beautiful day. Catherine had been Jonathan’s girlfriend through high school. Soon after George and Jonathan returned from the War, she was found raped and murdered out on North Point. Ultimately, Jonathan’s own brother, Luke, was found guilty of the crime.
Emily looked into the eyes of her father for some sign of understanding, but he just stared back at her. It had taken considerable time for him to come to terms with how she had risked the reputation of their family in helping Jonathan McKendry when he had first been charged with Catherine’s death. Over the past years he had come to know and love Jonathan, but it had taken time and the bitterness of that summer of the incident often touched on a raw nerve with her father.
“I just can’t believe he’s getting involved in something like that again,” said Compton, taking a long drink from his glass.
Jonathan looked quickly over his shoulder. “Stewart, I’ve known Sammy Truegood for years and he’s one of my best workers down at the boatyard. I can’t believe he could be involved with this mess with the Harris girl.”
“Dammit Jonathan!” he said, a bit too loud. “The kid admitted he was down there that night with the girls.”
Emily hugged him close again to try to calm him. “Daddy, please don’t get so upset about this. George is a lawyer. This is what he gets paid to do.”
Her father finished his glass and turned to hand it to the crewman standing behind him. He nodded to him to go below for a refill. “I don’t give a damn what he gets paid to do! He should know better than to get mixed up in something like this again, particularly with those people.”
Emily pushed away from her father and looked at him with a stern glare. She was about to launch into him about his intolerance for the Truegood’s and their people when George Hansen walked into the cabin. Before her father could say anything, she moved between the two men and gave George a kiss on the cheek. “Hello stranger,” she said. “I can’t believe we actually got you away from work for a few hours. I should take your temperature and make sure you’re feeling okay.”
George looked around the cabin and immediately noticed the strained expressions on everyone’s faces and the tension hanging in the air. “Did I miss something?”
Jonathan continued looking ahead, piloting the ship out past the last red buoy in the channel and into Lake Charlevoix. “George, probably best to just drop it,” he said, trying to diffuse the situation.
Emily jumped in again. “We’re going down to Horton Bay. Won’t that be grand, George?”
Stewart Compton turned suddenly and walked out of the cabin without saying anything.
Jennifer Harris sat down heavily on one of the chairs by the tennis court in the backyard of their summer house. Sweat rolled down her forehead into her eyes and dripped down leaving spots on her white skirt. She dropped her tennis racket on the ground and reached for a glass of lemonade sitting on a small table. Taking a short sip, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, hoping the pain in her head would finally go away. She hadn’t been able to take enough aspirin in the last day to calm the effects of the hangover and the night at the beach that had left her in the hospital. She was struggling to put fragments of memories back together and the guilt and fear at what had happened still left a dull ache in her stomach. Her friend, Elaine, was coming over after picking up balls on her end of the court.
“Hey Jenn, I thought a little exercise might help you, but you look like death.” Elaine sat down in another chair and reached for her drink sitting on the table. “That whiskey still has my head on fire, too,” she said, rubbing the moist chill of the glass on her forehead and cheeks.
Jennifer slumped in her chair and laid her head back, looking up at the high white clouds floating by overhead. She knew Sammy Truegood had been arrested for having his way with her that night at the beach. Everyone she knew in town had heard about it and the whispers and laughs behind her back were growing intolerable. Her father was threatening to take her back to Chicago for the rest of the
summer and she was beginning to think that may be best. She thought about Sammy and what he must be going through, but her anger for what he had done quickly took over any thoughts of concern for the boy.
Lying in bed awake for most of the past night, she tried to break through the dark cloud of empty memory of what had actually happened out on the beach at Fisherman’s Island. All she had been able to piece back together was driving out there with Elaine late in the afternoon to get some sun and go swimming. She remembered Sammy had come along and joined them for a while swimming. Andy and some of their other friends had come out and then everything else was gone from her memory until she woke up in the hospital feeling like her head was going to explode and her body had been run over by a truck. Elaine hadn’t been much more help in putting the evening’s events back together. She had nearly as much to drink and wasn’t able to fill in any more detail. Looking over at her friend, she said weakly, “I think my dad may literally kill me if this hangover doesn’t get me first.”
Elaine reached over and took her hand. “You know honey,” she said, “you’re lucky we found you in the dunes and not floating face down out in the waves. God, I’m never going to drink again.”
“How many times have I heard you say that?” Jennifer said, finally able to manage a weak smile.
“I haven’t seen Andy since they let me come home from the hospital,” Jennifer said. “I can’t believe you all found me out there in the dunes like that.” Andy Welton had been her summer boyfriend since last year.
Elaine didn’t answer, looking off across the tennis court at the lake through the trees.
“I’m afraid to ask, but did I have any clothes on when you guys found me?”
“Honey, it’s okay, we got you covered up right away.”
“Have you seen Andy?” Jennifer asked. “Has he said anything?” Her friend just shook her head no. “My mother won’t even talk to me and Connor is spitting nails about this whole thing, but you know him.”
The Summer Town Page 6
