Sunset Over Misty Lake

by Margaret Standafer

  The memories came flooding back and Joe shuddered. “I remember one time, I think I was eight or nine, I ate a candy bar on the way home from school. I dropped the wrapper—I didn’t even know I’d dropped it—he stopped the bus, marched back to my seat, and lectured me on the safety hazards of a messy bus.” Joe turned to Cassie. “In case you didn’t know, someone could slip on a wrapper and all number of horrible things could result. That person could fall and break a leg. Or crack his head open. He could fall and bump into the driver who could then have an accident. That’s not even considering what could happen if a sticky wrapper is left on the bus. It could attract bees and those bees could sting everyone on board. Someone could be allergic and die. Serious stuff, littering.”

  Cassie’s olive complexion turned a sickly hue. “Oh, my. He sounds a little scary. You were only eight?”

  Joe and Frank laughed. “Nah, he was really a softie,” Frank told Cassie. “He drove our bus for three years after he retired, and he took that job as seriously as he’d taken his job as head of safety at the snowmobile plant. He didn’t tolerate any nonsense, but he knew all our names, kept up on what sports or activities we were involved in, on what was happening with our families, and also brought us treats for every holiday.”

  “Treats we had to eat after we got off the bus, of course.”

  “Of course,” Frank said solemnly.

  “Anyway,” Joe said, “it sounds like he’s doing better than expected and that means Karen’s grandmother is doing better, as well. She’s been having a hard time since his stroke. All in all, Karen felt good about her visit today.”

  Shauna called from across the room. “Hey, guys, we need your opinions on a movie.”

  “Something funny,” Cassie said.

  “Something set in Vegas, maybe?” Frank added. “How about The Hangover? Or has everyone already seen it?”

  “I’ve seen it,” Joe said. “Pretty funny, though. I’d watch it again.”

  “I’ve seen it, too,” Shauna said, “but I agree with Joe. I’d watch it again.”

  “The Hangover?” Cort wrinkled his brow. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. I’m sure I haven’t seen it.”

  Shauna’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t seen it? You haven’t even heard of it? My, you have lived a sheltered life, haven’t you?” she teased. “That decides it. The Hangover, it is. I’ll order it.”

  Cort’s gaze followed Shauna as she headed toward the TV, grabbed the remote, and started pressing buttons. All Joe could think was that Cort could pose for a cartoon, one of those Looney Toons cartoons where Bugs Bunny has hearts shooting from his eyes. Joe had to fake a cough in order to wipe the grin from his face when Cort walked up beside him.

  “I’ve been thinking…” Cort began. “I don’t know when, or even if, I’ll hear from Dave, but I was thinking that if he has more information and agrees to another meeting, I’d ask him about bringing you along.”

  Joe blinked in surprise. Talk about coming out of left field. “You said Dave is secretive, for lack of a better term. Do you think he’ll agree to it?”

  “I’d say it’s yet another long shot, but I’m willing to try my luck if you’re interested.”

  “Interested? Of course, I’m interested. I’d love to meet the guy. More, I’d love to be able to ask him some questions, maybe plead my case. You said you detected traces of a heart in there somewhere. Maybe he’d be more willing to give us details if he hears from me.”

  Cort nodded. “No promises. I doubt he’ll agree, but I’ll ask. I understand your feelings of helplessness when it comes to doing what you can to help someone you love. To protect someone you love.” Cort closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “Believe me, I understand.”

  Cort walked away and joined Shauna on the sofa. He pulled her close and held on tight, burying his face in her hair for a moment. When he shifted away just a fraction, Shauna turned and gave him a curious look. Cort smiled and Joe could read his lips. I love you.

  From a distance, he couldn’t be certain if it was Evan or Julia, though the blue sweatshirt made him think Evan, but he knew it was one of his babies lying on its back, arms and legs flailing, and staring at the belly of the enormous tiger standing directly over him. Or her. Panic gripped Joe in its vicious clutches and rendered him unable to move, unable to save his baby. The tiger circled the baby, growling and drooling, long tangles of saliva flying when the beast threw back its giant head and roared.

  His brothers were supposed to be there to help, but they hadn’t yet returned with Joe’s van. Distracting the tiger, running into the fenced yard to save his child, and making it out alive seemed impossible on his own. Where were his brothers?

  Just when he’d given up hope they’d arrive in time he heard an engine. But it wasn’t his van, it was a police car. Jake’s? No, this wasn’t the Sheriff’s car Jake drove, it was a black and white, and if Joe wasn’t mistaken, the door said Las Vegas Metropolitan Police. When his brothers rolled out, nearly knocking one another over in their haste, Joe wanted to demand they tell him where his van was, but decided that would have to wait until they’d saved Evan. Or Julia. He still wasn’t sure.

  “Hurry! We need to get the tiger to go to the back of the yard so I can run in and grab the baby. Keep him occupied as long as you can. I’m guessing he’s a lot faster than I am.”

  “We’ve got a theak, a big theak. We’ll throw it over the back of the fenth, and he’ll go after it. That will give you time,” Jake said.

  Joe forgot about his baby. “A what?” He stared at Jake. Then at Frank. Then at Riley. “What happened to your teeth? Why don’t any of you have your front teeth?”

  He didn’t know if they answered, because the next thing he knew, Evan was in his arms and they were speeding off to find Julia. They’d forgotten her on the roof of their hotel.

  “Thee’ll be okay,” Frank lisped, “we left Dylan in charge, remember?”

  That seemed like a good idea and Joe was glad they’d thought of it. He leaned back and closed his eyes, but then there was pounding. Loud pounding that sounded as though it came from the trunk.

  When the pounding didn’t stop, only got louder, Joe opened his eyes and stared directly into the green, glowing numbers on the bedside clock. 2:14.

  He scraped his hands over his face. Hard. Still a little shaken, and more than a little tempted to call Karen to check on the kids, he told himself he needed to stop watching stupid movies before bed.

  More pounding, this time, followed by his name.

  “Joe. Wake up, Joe.”

  The door. Someone was at the door. At two o’clock in the morning? His heart thumped. Both Jake and Riley muttered in their half-awake states, but Joe ignored them and with fumbling fingers unlocked the deadbolt and managed to release the chain from the door.

  Cort stood there, fully dressed and looking a little miffed.

  “Took you long enough.”

  “What’s going on? What happened?”

  “Dave called. He wants to meet.” Cort lifted his arm and looked at his watch. “In forty-six minutes.”

  Any traces of sleepiness vanished. Images from the bizarre nightmare lingered, but Joe pushed them to the back of his mind.

  “Since you’re at my door, I assume he’s okay with me coming along?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. He didn’t argue. In fact, he seemed to like the idea. He’s an enigma, that one.”

  Joe didn’t hear anything past yes. He was already pulling Cort into the room.

  “Come in, come in. I need just a minute to get dressed.”

  Jake sat up. “What’s going on? Cort? Is something wrong?”

  Riley pushed up on one elbow and squinted when Joe flipped on a lamp.

  “We’re going to meet Dave.”

  “He agreed to have you there?” Jake asked.

  “Seems that way. I’ve gotta go. We’re supposed to be there in…forty-three minutes.”

  “But—”r />
  “I’m leaving.”

  Joe pulled his shirt over his head as he squeezed his way around Riley’s bed and grabbed his shoes.

  “Now,” he added.

  “We could follow, make sure nothing goes wrong,” Jake said. He climbed from his bed and grabbed the jeans he’d flung over the back of the closest chair.

  “Nothing will go wrong. You don’t have to worry about Dave,” Cort said.

  “It’s curious, after what you’ve told us, that he’s willing to meet with Joe. It has me worried.”

  “The only thing I foresee going wrong is if Dave realizes I’ve brought along someone other than Joe. He has information for us, or he wouldn’t have contacted me. I don’t want to risk angering him and losing out on getting our hands on that information.”

  Jake already had on his jeans and a shirt and was pulling on his first sock, but he stopped. “I suppose that makes sense. How about if you call right before you go in to meet him then don’t disconnect? I’d be able to listen in and know right away if something seems off.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but you don’t need to worry. After six years of off and on dealings with Dave, I know what to expect. He’s not a threat to those he works with.”

  Jake eventually nodded. “Okay. We’ll wait here. Will you at least give me the address of where you’re headed in case, well, in case I need it.”

  Joe looked at the clock. Thirty-eight minutes. “We need to go.”

  “Joe’s right. I’ll text you the address from the cab but go back to sleep. There’s no need to worry.”

  Cort headed out the door and Joe followed, his blood pumping. He looked back over his shoulder. “Try not to worry. This is going to be a good thing.”

  They arrived with eight minutes to spare, though if Cort hadn’t been along, Joe would have questioned whether the driver had driven to the correct address. The place was a dive. On a good day. Joe scanned the parking lot that was more potholes than it was parking lot. It was a good thing Clancy’s Place was situated in the middle of the desert where the chance of those potholes filling with rain water was slim. If located in Misty Lake, Joe figured patrons would need hip waders during the spring to get to the front door.

  Cort stopped under the bar’s neon sign that hissed and hummed at them. “Before we go in, I have to remind you to be patient. Dave does things at his own pace and rushing him will only slow that pace. He doesn’t like to be pushed, but at the same time, he doesn’t like a pushover. It’s a tenuous balance, but it should only take you a few minutes to get a feel for how he operates and how the meeting will go.”

  “I won’t screw it up, Cort. Remember, as important as this is to you, it’s more important to me.”

  Cort nodded. “Understood. Like I said, I don’t know what information it is that he has for us or why it was so important we come right away. For that matter, I’m still unsure as to why he’s okay with you being here, so it’s possible this meeting will take off on a tangent that we’re not expecting. Try to go with the flow.”

  Despite his nerves and the tension, Joe laughed. “Go with the flow? I’m willing to bet that Cort Mackenzie doesn’t often go with the flow.”

  Cort slapped Joe on the back. “That’s why I’m counting on you.”

  Sights, sounds, and smells bombarded Joe’s heightened senses as he opened the door to Clancy’s. The creak from the door sounded just like the creak from the little-used attic door at his grandparents’ house. When they’d been kids, they’d made a game of sneaking up those attic steps in search of long hidden treasures buried in the dusty, cobweb-covered boxes and trunks piled to the rafters. If the creak of the door didn’t alert his parents, the creaking steps most certainly did. Once in a while, they’d get the green light to spend the afternoon exploring. From the china dolls, to the decades-old catalogs, to the piles of stuffy, straight-laced clothing, to the ancient typewriter, to the dozens of other delights, they’d all found something to fascinate and entertain.

  The dusty light, too, wasn’t much different from that of the attic, where one bare bulb had hung from the ceiling. Inside Clancy’s, Joe could barely make out the opposite wall. Much preferring a brightly lit room, the urge to search out and flip on a dozen lights made his palms itch.

  The smell, though, was nothing like his grandparents’ attic and everything like Mick’s. Misty Lake or Las Vegas, the smell of an old bar that had seen too many spilled drinks and too few cleaning products knew no boundaries.

  “That way,” Cort said as he indicated the far corner of the room with the tilt of his head.

  Only two other tables were occupied, though that seemed like a lot to Joe considering it was three o’clock in the morning. At one, attempted whispers by the woman and the man seated there did little to hide the fact they were in the middle of a heated argument. Both sucked furiously on cigarettes and judging by the overflowing ashtray, they’d been at it a while. At the other, a middle-aged man hunched over his drink. He kept his head down, but that didn’t mean his eyes stayed down. Joe felt them follow him across the room and all the way to Dave’s table. A bodyguard? Possible, but equally as possible, someone who’d just gotten off work, had stopped in on his way home, and was curious about the newcomers.

  An overactive imagination wasn’t going to help matters, Joe told himself. Focusing on the man in front of him might.

  Dave was as Cort had described, but face to face, still something of a surprise. Cort had painted a portrait of a man with power, a man who knew the right people and the right secrets, who got answers, and who made things happen. Joe supposed the man he was looking at could be that man, but except for his eyes, there didn’t seem to be anything remarkable about him. He was overweight enough that he’d never outrun anyone; he wasn’t tall, so didn’t command any of the respect that seemed to come with greater height, when he mumbled a half-hearted greeting to Cort and Joe heard Dave’s surprisingly high-pitched voice, Joe knew he’d never put the fear of God into anyone at that octave.

  But his eyes told a different story. They weren’t large, rather almost hidden by the heavy folds of his eyelids and the cheeks that bloated beneath his eyes. Still, one glance told Joe those eyes missed nothing. They were quick to dart from Cort to Joe and, Joe sensed, to form a judgement. If a person could have dangerous eyes, Dave did. Cross him, Joe guessed, and you’d pay.

  “Dave, this is Joe.”

  Joe held out his hand. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

  Dave’s huff made it clear he was put out by having to pull his hand off his glass to shake Joe’s.

  “Yeah,” was all Joe got in reply.

  Cort motioned Joe into the booth. When they were both seated, and after Cort had ordered a round of drinks, he started the conversation.

  “It was a surprise to hear from you tonight and to be meeting so quickly.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not in Vegas all the time. We need to take care of business when you’re here.”

  “I appreciate that. What do you have for us?”

  Nothing moved but Dave’s eyes. They travelled from Cort to Joe and back to Cort. Ever so slowly, the index finger of the hand that held his glass started to tap. He looked at Joe again, then back to Cort.

  Dave tipped his head an inch in Joe’s direction. “I can talk in front of him?”

  Joe opened his mouth to answer but felt Cort’s knee nudge him before he could speak.

  “I wouldn’t have brought him here if that were an issue. You know me better than that.”

  Dave took a long drink, his eyes boring into Joe as he did so. “I suppose I do.” Dave set down his glass. “Are you business partners? Does this nasty situation involve Mackenzie Industries?”

  “Joe’s my brother-in-law, or he will be, come October.”

  Dave looked surprised. The look was out of place on a face that Joe guessed wasn’t often surprised. “Interesting.”

  Joe didn’t know if Cort would agree it was the right time for him to chime in, but
he was done waiting.

  “The information Cort asked you for, the information on Joshua, or Kellen, or whatever name he’s going by, he asked you for because of my wife. My wife was one of Joshua’s victims. If you have any additional information that will help us put him behind bars, I’d be very grateful if you’d share that information with us.”

  Dave’s eyes opened wider than Joe would have guessed they were capable of opening. Dave released his grip on his drink and leaned back in the booth, folding his hands over his midsection. “Very interesting.”

  “This has been a difficult ordeal for my wife, to say the least, and we’re hoping to be able to put an end to it very soon. Can you help us?”

  “I can.” With a grunt, he pushed himself up and dropped his elbows on the table. He rested his chin on his fists and looked Joe in the eye. “I have a name for you.”

  “Another victim?” Cort asked.

  “No, the accomplice.”

  Joe couldn’t help it. Shock had him turning to look at Cort to judge his reaction. When Cort appeared nearly as shocked, Joe figured he hadn’t misheard.

  “You’re giving us the name of the man who helped Joshua on occasion? The one who gave you specific information on some of the assaults?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Joe regretted his question before he finished the single syllable, but what was done, was done. He continued, “Understand I’m grateful, you have no idea how grateful, but we weren’t holding out much hope you’d give us that name. What changed?”

  Joe expected another nudge or some other form of rebuke from Cort, but there was nothing. Cort must be just as curious.

  Dave didn’t answer, instead turned his attention to Cort. Dave’s forehead wrinkled as he shook his head and hooked a thumb in Joe’s direction as if to ask, Who does this guy think he is? Then he shrugged, even chuckled a little, but when he spoke, his voice had a new edge to it, an edge that sent a chill up Joe’s spine.

  “People need to learn not to cross me.”

  Joe and Cort waited in silence. Tense silence, at least for Joe.