Jonathan walked over to stand next to Fran. “That’ll be her mate calling her back to him. They tend to get restless when they’re separated for long periods of time.”
“Oh, so you learned about women from lake monsters, did you? That explains an awful lot, you know.” Fran slipped her damp, faintly monster-scented fingers into his, granting him one of her sweet sideways smiles. “Thanks for introducing me to her, Johnny. She’s really something.”
“She is at that,” said Jonathan, his tone implying that he was no longer strictly talking about the lake monster. He pressed a kiss against Fran’s forehead, letting his lips linger there for several seconds before he pulled back and asked, “Are you ready to go and face the disaster my folks have no doubt made of our tent?”
“May as well,” she said, and started back up the beach—but she didn’t pull her hand out of his, and when she tugged him along behind her, he went without resistance.
Enid and Alexander had finished setting up the camp some time before, and were sitting comfortably by their small, unlit fire pit when Jonathan and Fran came over the rise, their feet crackling on the fallen leaves. Enid turned and smiled at them.
“I heard the bellows,” she said. “Did Goliath come out and say hello?”
“No, Bessie,” said Jonathan. “She spent quite a while on the beach, taking Fran’s measure. I think she approved. She even let Fran pet her.”
“Oh, that is an honor,” said Alexander. “What did you think of the locals, Frannie?”
“I’ve been petting a dinosaur,” said Fran. She sounded amazed and pleased with herself at the same time, like she could neither believe nor deny her luck. “A real dinosaur, that’s still alive, and I petted it.”
“Technically plesiosaurs aren’t dinosaurs, dear,” said Jonathan. “I didn’t correct you about that before, and I apologize if I allowed you to form any misconceptions about Bessie’s—”
Fran leaned over and kissed him, cutting off his lecture before it could get properly started.
“That’s one way to shut the boy up,” observed Alexander.
Enid just laughed.
The fishing trip was going very well so far as she was concerned.
Actually fishing in a lake filled with plesiosaurs turned out to be a somewhat complicated matter. Alexander and Enid took one end of the lake, while Johnny and Fran took the other. Both teams were equipped with a small, rectangular wooden box that made a sound like a broken kazoo when they blew into the open end.
Fran eyed the box with wary suspicion as she baited her hook. “What’s that? A lake monster call?”
“Essentially, yes,” said Jonathan, sounding pleased. “We have an agreement with the plesiosaurs. They let us fish, and in exchange, we scrub the mites and parasites off of their skin.”
“Johnny, I love you more than I’ve ever loved any other man in my life, so you’ll please excuse me when I say that you’re full of horseshit.” Fran dropped her baited hook into the water. “Not-dinosaurs are interesting animals, but they’re not people-smart. They can’t make that kind of deal.”
“No, but they can learn that if they leave us alone for a little while, we don’t take much, and then they get a full medical exam and cleaning when we’re done. They know that the parasites itch.” He lifted the lake monster call and blew into it twice, sending an eerie quacking noise drifting across the lake.
A few seconds passed before the distinctive sound of plesiosaur chirping answered him.
Jonathan smiled and put the call aside. “There, you see? They’ll stay away from this spot for at least half an hour. Plenty of time for us to catch something nice for dinner.”
“So why’re your folks at the other end of the lake if we’ve got the good fishing here?”
“We can’t quite get the plesiosaurs to herd fish onto our hooks; we’ll have better luck this way.” That, and splitting up gave him some time alone with Fran, and his parents some time alone with each other. That was more than welcome. Jonathan baited his own hook and cast his line into the water, enjoying the comfortable feeling of Fran’s hip, warm against his.
“Huh,” said Fran. “I guess you’re the expert, city boy.”
“You shouldn’t call me ‘city boy’ when we’re sitting in the middle of the wilderness, trying to catch fish for our dinner. It’s a contradiction.”
“Nuh-uh,” said Fran, sounding pleasantly amused. “The way you talk, you bring the city with you. We could be sitting on a raft in the middle of the ocean, staying alive by our wits alone, and you’d still be my city boy. Get used to it.”
“I already am, dear,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I already am.”
Between the two pairs, they were able to catch three large trout for their dinner: not enough to leave anything over for breakfast, but respectable for a single evening’s work, especially when they considered that the lake was occupied by a population of massive predatory reptiles. Fran managed to keep her curiosity contained until the fish had been fried over the campfire and consumed on slabs of Enid’s home-baked bread. Finally, she could restrain herself no longer.
“How does nobody know they’re here?” she asked, almost petulantly. “They’re huge! Shouldn’t somebody have noticed them by now? Somebody other than you? I mean, frickens and stuff are small, I can see why no one pays attention, but this is like…like missing hippos in the reservoir!”
“If someone did see a hippopotamus in the city water supply, I wager they’d be locked up for public drunkenness before anyone actually went and looked for a hippo in the reservoir,” said Alexander. “That’s the first part of how they’ve stayed hidden: somebody says they saw a lake monster, everyone else says they saw the bottom of a beer cooler.”
“Or they panic when they see their first plesiosaur and they try to hit it, or shoot at it, or otherwise upset the creatures,” said Enid. “The plesiosaurs have their own ways of dealing with people like that.”
Fran had seen enough interactions between humans and monsters to know what those “ways” likely entailed. The bottom of White Otter Lake was doubtless littered with the bones of fishermen who had panicked when a creature from the dawn of time loomed out of the water and came after them. “So that’s a lot of people, but that’s not everybody,” she said. “How are they still here? Why isn’t this place swarming with, I dunno, scientists and newspapermen?”
“White Otter Lake is quite isolated,” said Alexander. “The family that owns the western half of the lakeshore has known about the plesiosaurs for generations. They’re not scholars of the hidden world the way that we are, but they feel that the creatures are theirs to care for. They know we come here, and we have their permission to camp for a week every year, but we’re one of the only families that has that consent.”
“The Wilsons are nicely ornery folks, and they don’t hesitate before coming to visit unwanted campers with shotguns,” said Enid, sounding completely approving of this course of action. “I don’t think they’ve ever needed to shoot anyone, but I don’t think they’d hesitate if they saw the need.”
“How are they doing?” asked Jonathan. “I know Abigail was getting over the flu the last time I came up here with you.”
Enid’s face fell. She exchanged a glance with Alexander before saying, “Abigail passed away last fall. It’s just Herbert up at the house now.”
“We should go up tomorrow to pay our respects,” said Jonathan with a frown. “He may not have realized that we’re here, and I’d rather not surprise the man, or be surprised when he comes down to run us off.”
“Abigail was always the friendly one,” Alexander explained, seeing Fran’s puzzled expression. “She didn’t like us being here, as such, but she understood we were doing the lake monsters a service. Her family built the house three generations back. They’ve been keeping watch ever since.”
“Isn’t there anyone else?” asked Fran. “Cousins, or children, or somebody who can come and help Herbert keep an eye on things?”<
br />
“No,” said Enid, with a small shake of her head. “Abby used to say that she didn’t like other people’s children, so she didn’t feel like it would be right to have any of her own. Herbert, well, he had better things to worry about, like keeping people from fishing where they were likely to be eaten by prehistoric creatures from the lake.” She didn’t mention the other thing that Abby had been fond of saying—that three generations was a good run for a family that focused most of its energy on looking after monsters.
Somehow, she couldn’t see where that would have helped.
“Huh,” said Fran, leaning back so that her shoulder pressed into Jonathan’s side, cozy as a puzzle piece slotting into place. “Well, I guess it’ll do him some good to have company.”
“I think so too,” said Enid. “Now who’s up for pie?”
It had been surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of the lake lapping against its borders and the plesiosaurs calling back and forth to one another across the water. Fran thought she had identified four distinct voices, and was straining to isolate a fifth…
…and then the sun was up and she was opening her eyes to find Jonathan propped up on one elbow, smiling warmly down at her. He was wearing an undershirt and his boxers, and she’d never seen such a beautiful man in all her life. Maybe he hadn’t started out that way, back when he was an intruding city boy and she was a trick rider with the circus, but times had changed. For the better, she thought.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said. “My folks have already gone to hunt us up some breakfast. I stayed behind to wake you.”
“So we’re alone in the camp?” asked Fran, wakefulness coalescing with a speed that was exceedingly rare for her. She sat up, allowing the blankets to fall away. Unlike Jonathan, she hadn’t had cause to leave the tent yet this morning, and so further unlike Jonathan, she was quite gloriously nude. “How long do you think they’ll be gone?”
Jonathan, who had been married to her long enough to know what that tone meant, grinned before pulling his undershirt off and throwing it aside. “Long enough,” he said, and put his arms around her.
Enid and Alexander actually missed “long enough” by about ten minutes—the tent was still shaking when they returned, her basket full of eggs and mushrooms, his full of tiny wild strawberries like red buttons borrowed from the forest floor. They stopped, Enid hiding a smile behind her hand, and shared a pleased look between them. For the most part, they tried not to think about what their son and daughter-in-law did or didn’t do in the bedroom, but it had been years since Daniel left them, and there had been no more children. The small sounds coming from inside the tent were hopeful ones. They meant that even if there were never any more children, even if this family of monster-chasers got two generations to the Wilsons’ three, at least the bonds between them were unbroken.
Breakfast was nearly ready when the tent flap opened and Jonathan emerged, buttoning his shirt, with a rumpled, satisfied-looking Fran close behind him. He stopped at the sight of his father stirring a mess of eggs, chopped bacon, and mushrooms in a skillet held over their fire.
“Morning, Johnny,” said Alexander amiably. “You sleep well? Or I suppose I should be asking, you sleep at all? You seemed pretty busy when we came back to camp.”
“Is that your way of saying we were making too much noise?” asked Fran, walking past her stunned husband to the cooler. “Because we could be a lot louder, if that’s what it takes.”
“Fran,” hissed Jonathan, sounding scandalized.
Fran pulled the orange juice out of the cooler and grinned at him.
“I see you slept well,” said Enid, taking the juice out of Fran’s hand. “You were both perfectly restrained, and this is the last we’ll be talking about this over breakfast, do you all understand me? We’re going to sit down on folding chairs and eat our slightly burnt eggs like civilized people.”
“Oh, yes, this is absolutely how they eat in the finest restaurants in the land,” grumbled Jonathan, walking to take a seat.
“It should be,” said Alexander. “People’d be happier if they were this well-acquainted with where their breakfasts came from.” He began spooning his egg mixture onto plates. “Fran, can you grab one of these for Johnny?”
“Sure can,” she said amiably, and picked up two plates as she walked over and sat down next to Jonathan. Enid walked by and handed them each a fork. Fran beamed at her before asking, “So are we going to go up and meet your friend this morning? I’ll put on my nice fishing shirt.”
“You have three fishing shirts, and they all look exactly the same,” said Jonathan.
“Sure do, but only one of them will have me in it,” countered Fran, sticking a bite of scramble into his mouth to prevent him from making any further comments.
“Once we’ve eaten and done the washing-up, yes,” said Enid. “You’re going to come with us, then?”
“I figured I should, if only to keep myself off the ‘shoot on sight’ list,” said Fran. “Is that all right?”
“That’s fine,” said Alexander. “I’m certain Herbert will be pleased to meet you.”
Enid, who had been on the receiving end of more than a few of Herbert’s rants against trespassers, didn’t look so sure.
They made their way through the forest to the house on the hill overlooking the lake during the cool, lazy hours between their late breakfast and what they anticipated as the time for lunch. The plesiosaurs occasionally bellowed or chirped from the lake below, adding a surreal soundtrack to their march.
Fran paused at one point, frowning up into the trees. Jonathan slowed down, looking at her with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“Are there normally frickens around here?” she asked. She dropped her eyes to his, and added, “I haven’t heard one since we left the area just outside the lake. It seems odd, don’t you think? This is good fricken country. They should be thick as crows on carrion.”
Jonathan stopped walking altogether, trying to focus on what he was hearing—or rather, not hearing—from the surrounding forest. “Mother, Father,” he called. “Come back.”
“What is it, Johnny?” asked Enid, trotting over to the pair of them while Alexander followed at a more sedate pace. Jonathan didn’t say anything. He just pointed a finger up at the canopy of trees above them. Enid frowned, cocking her head to the side and listening to the small, inevitable sounds of a healthy forest growing all around them.
Branches rubbed against branches. Leaves rustled. Somewhere, a squirrel ran along a tree trunk, its feet scrabbling for purchase on the bark. Somewhere else, a deer stepped delicately through the undergrowth. But…
“Where are the frickens?”
“That’s what I was asking,” said Fran. “I thought they were everywhere in Michigan.”
“They are. We’ve seen three species here on previous visits. They’re shy, but they’re noisy.”
“Something must have frightened them,” said Alexander as he rejoined the group. “As to what that could have been…I’m afraid that I don’t know. Frickens are skittish when they’re not accustomed to people. Maybe our presence is enough to make them stop singing.”
“Then they should be starting up again behind us,” said Fran.
All four of them paused to listen this time. No frickens sang in the trees behind them.
Enid frowned. “One more thing to ask Herbert about,” she said. “Come along.”
There were no further stops as they walked through the wood to the house at the top of the hill. It was old, rickety and uncared-for, with the peeling paint and bleached out wood of a home that had been loved once, when times were better and more care could be spent on its upkeep. The porch sagged, seeming to melt down into the steps. Fran stopped dead some ten feet away.
“Is this a haunted house?” she demanded. “Because this feels like one of those situations where we walk inside and then we’re in a campfire story to tell to little kids. One of those ones that ends with ‘and they were ne
ver seen again.’”
“It’s not haunted, just decrepit,” said Jonathan, sounding distracted. He pointed to the driveway, saying, “Mother, is that Herbert’s car?”
Enid looked where he was pointing and frowned. “No. Herbert drives a beat-up old blue truck that’s about half rust from being kept near the water.” The car in the driveway was glossy black and obviously new; it had probably rolled off the showroom floor in Detroit less than a year before. “Maybe he has company.”
“If he does, it’s the first time,” said Alexander. He walked gingerly over to the sagging steps, waving for the others to stay where they were as he climbed up to the equally unsteady-looking porch. Nothing broke or gave way beneath his feet, which seemed like something of a miracle. Looking a little less nervous now that he had reached his destination without severe injury, Alexander raised his hand and knocked on the front door.
“It could take a few minutes for Herbert to answer,” said Enid. “His hearing isn’t what it used to—” She stopped speaking as the door swung open, and a person stepped out onto the porch, an artificial smile plastered across his face.
“Hello,” said the stranger, eyes flicking to the three people standing on the ground in front of the house before his gaze settled more firmly on Alexander. He was young, maybe a few years younger than Jonathan, with sandy blond hair and a certain sharpness to his motions that implied the potential for violence, if he felt that he was being pushed. His clothing was well-cut and clearly expensive, but at the same time designed for easy movement and durability. “May I help you?”
“Uh, yes, Mr. …?”
The man didn’t respond. He just raised his eyebrows and waited for Alexander to continue.
“Right.” Alexander stood up a little straighter, his own demeanor shifting to match the stranger’s coolness. “We’re here to see Herbert Wilson, the owner of this house. Is he available?”
Loch and Key Page 2
