“Oh, I know how easy you are.”
“So, how’s the water in the hot tub?”
“About perfect.”
Alex waived to get the attention of the bartender to get the check. The man nodded and went over to the cash register to ring up the bill. “I keep thinking about George and the sheriff’s visit,” Alex said. “Would you have ever thought anyone would be out to hurt George?”
Sally finished the wine left in her glass. “No, there has to be another explanation, unless he was having a problem with something in his legal practice. He occasionally dealt with some tough customers. I didn’t think he was really working that much anymore.”
They walked out of the restaurant and headed up the hill toward the house. Sally felt Alex’s warm hand in hers. They walked slowly, enjoying the night. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask, of all the lawyers in New York, you had to find one who looks like Eva Longoria.”
Alex laughed. “She is pretty damned attractive isn’t she,” Alex said.
Sally pulled her hand away and punched him playfully in the arm. “Alex Clark, she better be the best damned lawyer in New York, or…”
“Or what?” Alex interrupted.
“Or you’ll be in that hot tub all by yourself for a very long time.”
Connor Harris walked out onto the porch of the family’s summer home in Charlevoix. He moved slowly and with measured steps. At just over 84 years of age, a long series of health issues continued to slow him down. What little hair was left on his head was a dull white. Deep circles sagged beneath his eyes. Brown age spots stood out on his pale skin.
Having been released from prison just five years ago after being convicted of numerous charges related to bribery, extortion and tax evasion involving large real estate deals in downtown Chicago, he had spent the past few years in semi-retirement working behind the scenes to help his son’s business. Dylan Harris was forty-six years-old, lived in Chicago and had taken over what was left of his father’s crumbling real estate business when he had gone to prison in 1987.
Connor sat in a chair and looked out across the lake. While the body continued to fade, his mind remained sharp and focused. Memories of past summers always came back to him when he sat out on this old porch.
Chapter Twelve
That Slayton family who lived out south of town, they were a bad lot, the most of them. How Harold Slayton ever had a wife and daughter as sweet as Agnes and little Sara, I’ll never pretend to understand. His two brothers were darn near as bad; too much whiskey and too much anger. They’d been beaten by their daddy and the whole cycle just seemed to carry on.
… the summer of 1952.
Emily looked at the clock on the wall of her office and was surprised to see it was after 7:00. Office hours ended at 5, but she kept on, trying to catch up on paperwork. Her desk was still covered with random piles of reports and other assorted medical forms. Behind the desk, a large bookshelf held volumes of medical texts and a few pictures of her family and Jonathan. She rubbed her temples and pushed thick curls of brown hair back out of her eyes. There was a small window on the wall to her left and she could see the row of low buildings across Clinton Street. A few people walked by on the sidewalk including a young mother pushing a small child in a stroller. She remembered Sara Slayton from earlier in the morning. Her heart still ached for the little girl. Dr. Ellard from down at the hospital had called just before noon to tell her he set the broken bone in Sara’s arm. He was very concerned there were other signs of past injuries and assorted bruises. How could any human being hurt a child like that? she thought.
Emily stood and took her white jacket off with the name tag, Dr. McKendry above the chest pocket and hung it on a coat rack sitting in the corner of the office. She thought about calling Jonathan, but she knew he was up at the new house doing some painting before they moved in. I’ll see him in a few minutes.
Out on the sidewalk, she turned and locked the door to the office. She was tired, but it had been a good day to immerse herself in her work and try to start putting the loss of her father behind her. Her car was parked back behind the building. As she walked around the corner to the parking area, a man was standing right in front of her, leaning against the building. He was only a few feet away and Emily could smell the liquor on the man mixed with stale sweat. He wore faded dungarees over a green plaid shirt that was frayed at the sleeves and an old brown felt hat on his head that was sweat-stained and dirty. His face was weather-worn and creased, and a stubble of gray beard stood out on his reddish face.
The man pushed himself away from the wall and stood right in front of her, grabbing her arm. Emily stood frozen, too shocked to understand what was happening or what to do. He just looked at her for a few moments through eyes that seemed clouded and distant. When he spoke, his breath made her wince and pull back.
“You the doc who seen my little girl, Sara, this mornin’?” the man hissed.
Emily was too frightened to answer and looked around quickly to see if she should yell for someone to help her. There was no one else in the parking lot or coming down the sidewalk.
He grabbed her arm more urgently and pulled her close to his face. “You answer me, goddammit!”
Emily turned her face and tried to keep her fear under control. “Please, just let me go home,” she pleaded.
He pulled her along until they were over behind a large, dirty green truck. “I’m gonna ask you one more time if you’s the one saw Sara today?”
Emily gathered herself and looked directly into his eyes, anger beginning to replace her initial fear. “Yes, I saw your daughter, Sara,” Emily said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “She was hurt very badly.”
“Hell, she just fell down in the barn. Didn’t think she even needed to see no doctor.”
“Her arm was broken very badly, and she was covered with bruises.” Emily’s anger continued to surge. “If you hurt that little girl again, I swear I’ll have the sheriff out there!”
Harold Slayton sneered and pulled her closer. “I’m tellin’ you right now, lady, if you talk to anybody ‘bout this, I’ll be back to see you again and we’ll be doing a lot more than just talkin’! You understand?”
Emily just stared at him, trying as hard as she could not to shake and show her fear. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
He shook her by both arms and said, “Do you hear what I’m sayin’?”
Emily nodded slowly. She felt his grip let go and he backed away. She watched as he opened the door to the green truck and climbed in, never taking his eyes away from her. She knew right then she would never forget the look of hatred and evil in those eyes. He pulled out of the parking lot and drove away.
Elizabeth Hansen brought a tray of iced tea into the living room of their house. Mary and Sammy Truegood sat on the couch together facing her husband, George. She set the tray on the coffee table and handed the glasses to everyone. The window behind the couch looked across to the woods on Park Street above the beach on Lake Michigan. Through the tall pines, glimpses of the lake could be seen, the water glittering a bright silver color in the late evening light.
Sammy Truegood had a bandage on his forehead with a small trace of blood showing through. His mother was trying her best not to cry, but her eyes were red and swollen.
George Hansen sat forward in his chair, his hands clenched in front of him. “Are you sure you got the license number correctly, Sammy?”
The boy nodded.
“I’m going to go call the sheriff. You think there were three boys in the car?”
“Yes, Mr. Hansen. It was the boys down at the beach that night… when Jennifer got hurt,” Sammy said.
“Did you do anything to provoke them?” George asked.
“No, I told you, I was just riding down the hill and they pulled up next to me and ran me off the road.”
“We’re lucky they didn’t kill you,” Elizabeth said.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?
I can have Dr. McKendry come over,” George offered.
“No, thanks, I’m really okay, just a couple of scrapes,” Sammy said.
George stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute. Let me see if I can reach the sheriff or someone down at their office.
A half hour later, Sheriff Willy Potts rang the doorbell. Elizabeth let him in and he joined George and the Truegoods in the living room. Sammy explained what had happened earlier on his bike, describing the car and its occupants and giving the sheriff the license number.
Potts sat there shaking his head and taking notes on a small pad as he listened to the story. “Well, it sure sounds like Andy Welton and his two buddies. I’ll head over there tonight and have a little talk with him and his parents.”
“Would you like some tea, Sheriff?” Elizabeth offered.
“No thanks, Liz. I’m going to get on over there before it gets any later.”
“Willy, I think we should press charges here,” George said. “This is completely unacceptable. They could have killed the boy.”
Potts reached for his hat on the table. “I’ll be happy to take a complaint on those damn fools, George,” he said. “You know I’ve been talking more to the Harris girl and her little friend, Elaine. I’ve also talked to these boys who were down at the beach that night. The more they talk, the more the stories start heading in different directions, about that night out at the beach I mean.”
“Different directions?” George asked.
“Well, Jennifer Harris doesn’t remember a thing because she was so darned drunk. Her friend Elaine was almost as bad when they brought her in, but all of sudden she’s got this clear recollection of all the night’s events.”
“Like what?” Sammy asked.
“Well, that first day, she said she didn’t see you with Jennifer. I mean she didn’t see you actually…well, actually attack her.”
“That’s because I didn’t touch Jennifer!” Sammy shouted.
“I know, son,” the sheriff said. “But, her story’s changed. She’s claiming now she found Jennifer Harris in the dunes passed out drunk and mostly naked. She’s saying she was able to wake her up for a bit. She says the Harris girl was asking about you, Sammy, about where you’d gone.”
“That’s a damned lie, sheriff!” Sammy said, jumping up and walking around the table.
“Son, just settle down. She’s also claiming Welton and his two friends were down at the beach at the fire the entire time.”
“I told you I saw them on the path in the woods. They tried to start a fight with me.”
George walked over and put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “So now you’re telling us you’ve got a witness that will testify against Sammy?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Mary, I’m sorry to ask about these details in front of you like this,” George said, “but Willy, what is she claiming she actually saw? Did she say she saw Sammy actually raping Jennifer Harris?”
Mary Truegood let out a low moan and covered her face in her hands.
“No, no she’s not saying that, but she is saying Jennifer was lying in the sand naked asking about young Truegood here.”
Sammy rushed over to stand in front of the sheriff. “I swear to you nothing happened.”
“I don’t know, son,” the old sheriff answered. “Let me get over to the Welton’s and have another chat. Sammy, if you want to sign a complaint, I can bring them all in.”
“What good will it do?” Sammy asked.
“Honestly, not a lot,” Potts said. “I’m sure they’ll deny the whole thing. Doesn’t sound like anyone who helped you down there this afternoon really saw what happened.”
“No, we’ve already covered that,” said George.
“I’ve had trouble with these boys before. Let me get after ‘em again on this,” Potts said.
“I have the whole lot of them scheduled for depositions the day after tomorrow,” George said. “They better damn well have their stories straight by then!”
Emily McKendry’s hands continued to shake holding the steering wheel of her car as she pulled into the drive of the house. Jonathan’s old truck was parked in the garage, the lift gate down with several cans of paint and tools lying in the truck bed. She went through the garage and the back door into the house. Her heart was beating hard in her chest and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She couldn’t get the thought of Slayton’s words out of her mind. I’ll be back to see you again…
She heard Jonathan banging around out in the back of the house. She walked into the big living room and saw him working on the back sunporch. He looked up when he heard her come into the room.
“Hey beautiful…” Then he saw the look on her face. “Emily, what’s goin’ on?”
She walked quickly to him and reached her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
“Emily?”
She pulled back and took him by the arm to sit on an old couch along the wall. “We have a problem,” she said as they sat down. After she retold the story of little Sara Slayton and her injuries, and then her father’s visit and threats just a few minutes earlier, Jonathan sat forward on the couch, his hands clenching his knees.
“Where does this sonofabitch live?” he said, his face flushing red and veins along his neck pulsing.
Emily pushed the hair from her eyes and leaned back on the couch, looking at the ceiling. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself. “They live on a farm south of town, but don’t we need to get the sheriff’s office involved in this?”
“Honey, there’s no way I let this guy threaten you like this. We’re going out there now!”
She stood and walked to the window. “We need to think about the little girl. What’s he going to do to her when we leave?”
Jonathan considered this for a few moments. “OK, we’ll get Potts to go with us, but we need to do it now, and maybe we need to get the little girl and her mother out of there.”
“I’m so afraid for her,” Emily said. “You can’t imagine how frightened she was. It would just break your heart.”
Jonathan got up. “Let me see if the phone’s turned on in the kitchen.
Forty minutes later they followed Sheriff Potts’ cruiser as he turned into a dusty dirt drive. An old mailbox had Slayton hand-painted in crude style. Through the dust from the car in front of them, Jonathan could see a dilapidated farmhouse just ahead, the white paint faded and peeling. The front porch sagged, and a screen door hung half open. Chickens scattered from the drive as they pulled up and stopped. They all got out and gathered in front of the house. There seemed to be no movement or noise coming from inside, but the wind rushed through the leaves of a big oak tree above them and a rusty windmill spun with assorted creaks and moans on a tower over by a worn red barn.
Sheriff Potts stepped up to the porch. “Mr. Slayton, this is Sheriff Potts. Will you come out here please? I need to have a word with you.”
There was no response.
The sheriff stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the door. “Mr. or Mrs. Slayton, are you home?”
Agnes Slayton came to the door. Emily gasped when she saw that her face was badly bruised around her right eye.
“Mrs. Slayton?” the sheriff asked.
She nodded, her hands clutching her dress in a clump at her waist.
“Mrs. Slayton, I’m Sheriff Potts. Are you okay? What’s happened here?”
The woman looked out and saw Emily and they made eye contact. Emily felt her heart breaking again when she saw the hopelessness in Agnes Slayton’s eyes.
“You all need to go away,” the woman said. “We’ll be alright.”
“Where’s your husband?” Jonathan asked, walking up onto the porch next to the sheriff. “I’m Dr. McKendry’s husband. Your husband came to town today and threatened her about all this.”
Sheriff Potts held a hand out in from of him. “Jonathan, hold on just a minute. Mam, you need to tell me where your hus
band is.”
“He’s not here,” the woman said, reaching up and touching the bruise on her face, flinching as her hand made contact.
“Is Sara okay?” Emily asked from behind the men.
“Sara’s fine. Thank you, Doctor, for what you did today. But, you all need to leave. This won’t get no better with you bein’ here.”
“Where’d your husband go, Mrs. Slayton?” the sheriff asked again.
“I don’t know. Into town I guess.”
Then Sara Slayton walked slowly and cautiously up behind her mother. Emily saw the cast on the little girl’s arm, and she walked up on the porch past the men and knelt down next to her. “Sara, let me see your new cast. It looks like Dr. Ellard did a really nice job. Does it feel okay?”
The little girl nodded and looked down at her feet.
Emily reached out and smoothed the hair on the top of Sara’s head, then she looked back at her husband and the sheriff. “You know we can’t leave them here.”
“Emily, we have no right to take them, and they may not want to go,” Potts said, looking back at Agnes Slayton.
The woman’s face looked tired and defeated. “You all will just make this worse, please go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Will Truegood threw the covers back from his face and blinked at the bright sunlight coming in through his window. He held his arm over his face for a moment and tried to clear those early morning cobwebs that keep you stuck between deep sleep and the consciousness of another day. The old cabin he lived in sat back in the woods surrounded by heavy cedar swamp. His family built it years ago and it had always been his favorite place as a young boy. The beautiful Horton Creek was just over a low rise behind the cabin and he could hear the soft whisper of the water through his open windows. When he got older, his father, Jonas Truegood, gave him the cabin. They still came here together often to fish, his father mostly sitting on the bank out of the flow while Will cast to the trout lying in behind the rocks and cedar stumps.
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