“Yes, he did. And so did Mommy,” she said as though any other outcome would have been totally impossible to imagine. Yet I knew that she herself had been trying to keep her parents from encountering the least hint that there were sparks flying between Frozen Bear and her. Moreover, she didn’t sound convincing.
“Cynthia, I know your father is involved in business with Frozen Bear. But money and families are two very different things. Your father, I am sad to say, has never shown great tolerance for the Lattigo. After all, he kept them from getting the liquor license to this place for decades.”
She was dismissive. “That was business.”
I was astounded. “What was different between them giving Red money for an unused license and my buying it? The license wasn’t being used. The Lattigo would have paid as much to the penny as I did.”
“Well, Daddy was pretty happy when you bought this place. He had been trying to sell it for years. And you paid him way more than he ever expected to get.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, it wasn’t the money from the license that Daddy was thinking about. He wanted to get rid of this building, and you bought it. And he didn’t want anyone to use the liquor license who would compete with his store. He knew the Lattigo would use the license to open a liquor outlet closer to the reservation. Then the tribe members wouldn’t drive into Thread anymore, and they wouldn’t shop at our store. But you . . . well, he knew that you wouldn’t be able to run a business that took away any of his liquor sales.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Why get offended? I’m just telling the truth. I should be upset that you think Daddy wouldn’t be happy I’m in love.”
“But Red hates the Lattigo,” I protested.
“Wally, you don’t understand love,” Toivo jumped back into the mix. “Someday you’re going to find that right woman. Somewhere there’s that person who makes you feel complete. And if you’re lucky enough to have a baby with that woman, and you see that baby grow into a beautiful young lady like Cynthia, then when you hear her come to you and say that she’s in love, then that day, that day for sure, you are going to be the happiest man in the world.
“Let me tell you, there’s nothing richer than love. Once you have it, nothing else takes its place. You could catch the biggest fish there was. You could lumberjack the oldest tree in these woods. You could even have more cash than any of these tycoons coming to town. But if you know you’re missing real love, then none of those things can be all that important.
“And when you see your baby has a chance to get it, every inch of your body will want it for them, and you’ll cry to the heavens, ‘Thank God my baby has found love.’”
He handed over two dollar bills for the coffee and pie. “I gotta go now.” He walked quietly to the door. He moved with such dignity. We could see him walking slowly in the direction of the cemetery. Even in his gait, we could somehow sense just how much he was aching to hold onto the hand of his dead wife, how much he wanted to reach out and complete a union that could never be held again.
“Was he talking about me?” whispered Cynthia.
“Maybe he was talking about all of us,” I said back almost as quietly. I watched him walk steadily, unhurriedly, until he turned a corner and disappeared from my sight. And then I felt immensely sad remembering Patrice.
It was very early in the morning. Officer Campbell was standing in the kitchen with Thelma and me. He was nervously twirling his hat. “I have to ask, you see? It’s my job.”
“And I told you,” Thelma replied calmly, “that I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no way I could be a witness for the state.”
Officer Campbell had a problem. Up in Timberton, the ambitious district attorney for Penokee County had run into a small snag in his case against Pete Sullivan. Not surprisingly, there didn’t actually appear to be any laws against showing silent movies on the siding of one’s own house. But the district attorney sniffed that there was something untoward about the Reverend Willy and wasn’t willing to drop this bone. But people liked the Reverend Willy, even if they thought him odd for showing old movies to no one. Besides he cleaned all the churches for free. Moreover, even his own parishioners considered Pastor Paul Mall overly sanctimonious. No one was going to admit that Willy had ever done anything other than show movies.
Stress was building up in Officer Campbell’s face. For a man whose chief worry had been replacing a broken police light and catching the occasional speeder, he had become a very busy soul. He was caught up in two investigations involving the state police: the kidnapping of Mrs. Rabinowicz’s body and the somewhat undefined case against Willy. Added to that was his new role with multiple deputies trying to deal with the crazy rush of news traffic. Ever since someone had leaked the tale of the bodynapping to the press, the news media had truly descended on town to delightedly lap up the oddities. Between the press and the investors visiting American Seasons offices, which had taken over much of the bank as the information center for the planned resort complex, the town square was always packed.
But the Reverend Willy case was particularly challenging. Both the county district attorney and the state police were persistent in attacking Officer Campbell for ignoring the so-called Willy problem.
“Help me out here,” he said, “I know both of you were out to Reverend Willy’s place. I heard you guys talking about it last summer. I was here in the cafe the day you planned it. I know you went there. What was he really up to? Was he naked?”
“I don’t recall going there, Thelma, do you?” I wasn’t about to feed this frenzy. Reverend Willy may be a weirdo, but he was the town weirdo. The way the town was swinging verbal clubs against American Seasons, I didn’t need to offend the locals.
“I don’t recall that either, Wally.” Thelma was smiling.
“No one in town seems to recall that,” Officer Campbell said glumly. “I could subpoena you, you know.”
“Would that change my memories?” I asked.
“You’re telling me you would perjure yourself on the stand?”
“The thing is I just don’t recall ever going out to the Sullivan place. Maybe I did, but I just don’t have any memory of it,” Thelma said. “I don’t think that would be perjury. I’m getting old. My memory just isn’t that good.”
“You’re going to force me into talking to the Lahti boy,” Officer Campbell sighed. “Danny’s bedroom faces that house. He had to have seen what was going on. He probably knows if there was anything wrong going on.”
“No,” Thelma and I said in unison.
Officer Campbell looked at both of us. A slight grimace pursed his lips. Across his face flitted the pros and cons of fighting the town over this, while stacking it up against his need to meet the demands of outsiders. He sighed and a weight seemed lifted from his shoulders. A little smile began to creep into the corner of his mouth. “I guess there’s nothing here to worry about, since no one else in town can collaborate it. It’s just a nasty rumor. Now why would anyone want to start such a rumor about a good God-fearing man like Willy who goes to church so many times a week?” The man was trying on the story for size and liked the fit.
I jumped in. “Yup, Willy’s a god-fearing man. That’s why we all call him Reverend Willy.”
“How about a cup of coffee before you go?” Thelma asked. The room now seemed bright with early morning sunshine.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied. “And how about one of your sticky buns? I haven’t had breakfast yet today, and I should be getting out of your hair anyway. Aren’t you supposed to be opening up for breakfast?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’d be delighted to serve you. And it’ll be on us, won’t it Wally?”
I nodded in agreement. Thelma quickly hustled up a mug filled with fresh coffee, and then set down a plate with the largest of her sticky buns. She eagerly waited for Officer Campbell to take the first sip and the first bite. Only after he did both did she really relax, as though Campbe
ll had made a commitment that could not be broken.
“Any news on finding Regina’s body?” I asked.
“We have our suspect, and it has nothing to do with the resort plans. I can’t really say more,” Officer Campbell said with pompous authority. He was back in charge. “By the way, some seem to think I have another missing person. Either of you seen Mr. Packer in the last couple of days?”
I pondered the question. “Now that you mention it, he hasn’t been in for a couple of days. But that’s not unusual. He isn’t like Bromley and Claire who are here absolutely every day. But he has been gone a while.” Because my cafe had become the in spot for out-of-town reporters who liked my food and used me as their lodestone back to the big city realities, I hadn’t paid much attention to my regulars.
Officer Campbell looked pleased that he knew something we didn’t. “Don’t worry about it. His neighbor called me yesterday because she hadn't seen him for a day, and you know how he’s always walking about. Hard not to see him. She was afraid he might have died in that maze he calls home. I looked around his house. Bookcases full of books, and the guy hasn’t thrown anything away in decades. The rooms inside are nothing but paths between piles of junk. But it looked like he had been searching for something. Things were all thrown about. It made me worry that someone had robbed him.
“So I checked around, found out that Harvey had sold him a bus ticket to Madison. He left day before yesterday. Why do you suppose old man Packer would be going to Madison?”
We never had a chance to answer. An enormous woman rushed into the kitchen without warning. I wondered how she got in since the cafe wasn’t even opened. Then I remembered I had left the front door unlocked for Officer Campbell. This woman had enormous red hair, piled high in a beehive hairdo. She skidded to a stop next to Officer Campbell and teetered on her high heels.
“We’re not open yet,” I said.
“You . . . You . .” she said, pointing a long finger, bedecked with two-colors of nail polish, at Thelma. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Thelma asked dismissively. I could tell Thelma had cast her eyes over this apparition and dismissed her as a floozy.
“My Gilbert, of course. What have you done with him?”
“Why would he be here? Beside he’s not your Gilbert, he’s my Gilbert,” Thelma’s voice was strong, but her tone had changed, mixing an undercurrent of fear with preparation for a truth already suspected.
“Is that so?” she snipped. “I know you know that Gilbert spends every Tuesday night and Wednesday with me. We were going to get married, but you kept trying to lure him away, so when he didn’t show up this week, I called his landlady. Gone off and gotten married, she told me. I knew it had to be you. How could you? After I’ve done his laundry for ten years.” She started to sob.
“I haven’t seen Gilbert since Monday. I don’t know where he is.” Thelma was faltering. Officer Campbell and I moved closer. I was afraid she might faint. I thought of the woman Thelma and I had seen with Gilbert at the Penokee House. I knew that Thelma was thinking of that same thing. Her eye was still slightly bloodshot from that dinner sighting.
The other woman was crying and hesitant. “If it’s not you, and it’s not Tillie, then who is it? What happened to him?”
“Who’s Tillie?” asked Thelma in a very quiet voice.
“I know you know about Tillie!” Thelma shook her head to the contrary, and the woman seemed taken aback. “How about me?” Another shake from Thelma. “Oh, dear, I was sure you knew about both Tillie and me. I’m Tina. I guess Gilbert liked his T’s. You really don’t know?”
Thelma shook her head again. The other woman was clearly astonished, and now a little bit embarrassed.
“Well, it was a deal how we shared Gilbert. Gilbert spent Fridays and Saturdays with Tillie, ’cause she’s an accountant, and she always helped him balance his weekly books. She’s been dating him almost as long as I have, nearly ten years now. He told both of us he would marry one of us one day. But then he met you. Before you, he used to alternate Sunday evenings with us. You changed that.”
“I’ve never heard one word of this,” said Thelma defiantly.
Tina was now shy, almost demure. “I just assumed he was honest with you, like he was with us. Sure, Tillie and I know he’s a playboy, but we always thought he was our playboy. Then when he left a phone message for Tillie that said he was going to Florida to get married with someone new . . . well, Tillie and me figured it was you. You were the newest, so who else could it be. We just knew it had to be you, and Tillie said I had to come and find out for sure.”
The four of us floated in the early morning sunlight. Officer Campbell’s coffee and half-eaten roll sat forgotten on the counter. Tina seemed eager to leave. Thelma was adrift. I felt moored to the spot, anchored by my concern for Thelma. Time ticked on, and I thought of Gilbert’s watch and his many stories.
A transformation came over Thelma. It was as though the very broken blood vein in her eye instantly scarred up, and she took on an attitude more frightening than her behavior when we had seen Gilbert at the Penokee House. Sensing the change and the desperation behind it, Officer Campbell tried to give Thelma a hug, but she shifted away.
“Wally, we’re supposed to be open. We better get going. So Gilbert is gone. Good riddance, I say. Never liked his bow tie anyway. He just better not come around here again trying to sell me canned goods.
“Why isn’t Cynthia here already. We got work to do. How are we supposed to run this restaurant if we don’t have dependable help?”
Tina slinked back out the door, her tiny heels making a tip-tapping sound in retreat. Poor Officer Campbell’s hat was nearly destroyed by his wringing hands. His face was fully flushed. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t imagine what would be worth saying. I knew exactly how he felt.
“Thelma,” I said softly, “You once warned me that people are more complex than I thought and to watch out. That was good advice, and maybe I should have given you the same warning.”
Immediately, I realized it was a stupid thing to say. She glared at me with astonishment and anger. “Get out of my kitchen.”
Officer Campbell and I hurried out. The moment we were in the main room, Thelma’s sobs burst forth, rising as a keening wail into the spring
The square was filled with angry people. Hundreds, maybe thousands. More than had ever attended Loon Fest. They focused their fervor on the old bank building on the east end of the square. The bank–now owned by Haligent Holdings, an investor in American Seasons–was currently in a swirl of sandblasting, sawdust and new paint, all endeavoring to restore the building to its turn-of-the-century promise of northwoods glory. Haligent had opened the bank’s long-empty third floor to house the local offices for American Seasons. In order to direct operations on site, Henry Van Elkind had temporarily moved from Chicago to live at his camp. Now he looked out from the bank’s third floor onto a square of seething protesters. At least a thousand tumultuous souls.
Jacqueline Grant was currently urging the group in its chants and waving of placards. The mob was a strange conglomeration of Native Americans dissatisfied with the role of the tribe, environmentalists from the big cities, locals fearing the loss of their world and disgruntled landowners who felt swindled out of their worthless swampland. Josh was among them, lazily waving a sign that read: You Cheated Us. Danny claimed that Josh was now worth over a half a million dollars thanks to his parents’ inheritance and the sale of the land. His outrage lacked conviction.
The more I watched the milling mass, the more it seemed a mess. Danny and Cynthia were at my side. No one dared to cross the sea of seething humanity to come into the cafe.
In the town’s eyes, I was still an innocent in this maelstrom. Thelma suspected my involvement with the resort’s planning. Maybe she even knew, but she was too caught up in her anger and hurt over Gilbert to focus on my perfidies. I was glad no one knew. After all, the town should embrace the development. Its enormous in
vestment would bring new tax revenues to the community allowing up-to-date schools, a full-time librarian and better services. There would be thousands of new jobs: hotel managers, restaurant hostesses, shop owners, amusement ride operators, croupiers, bartenders, managers and computer programmers. The list was endless. And all of those people would require new shops, banks and offices. Doctors, lawyers and accountants. Teachers for the children. New roads. New airports. More people to build the roads and airport. This was a town that catered to tourists. Why wouldn’t they welcome more of them?
But that was the problem. More people. Somewhere, somehow, a whole new city would have to emerge. Most who lived in Thread didn’t like a lot of people. They tolerated the summer folk, because they were essential to eking out any kind of living. But who needed a bowling alley or a movie theater or a newsstand? A fishing boat, a snowmobile, a friendly bar and a church were more than enough. Many of them didn’t even need the church.
They lived in Thread because they hated the big city. Now, the big city was coming to them: Congestion. Pollution. Inflation. Crime. Anonymity and indifference.
Van Elkind was trying every trick I ever suggested to change their minds. He engaged the country’s largest public relations firm, Hill and Knowlton, and with the firm came sensible advice. Stress the positives. More money. More jobs. Nature preserves. Revived economies. Grants to protect endangered species. New investments. Keeps out the nasty mining companies and saves the earth. More money. Opens nature to the enjoyment of millions. More money. More money. More money.
Nationally, such tactics worked. Serious publications estimated the costs of development, computed the net worth and connections of the principals, noted the risky legal aspect of tribal gambling, and duly reported the positive conclusion. Haligent Holdings went up twenty points. Capital venture firms started swarming to Thread to discuss potential investments. Brokerage firms paraded by.
The regional press was even more enthusiastic. They were in a party mood, taking full advantage of new color press capabilities to run complex artist’s depictions of the new Thread. And why not? They catered to the millions who lived in Milwaukee, Chicago and Minneapolis who wanted a playground closer to home than Orlando, Las Vegas or Anaheim.
Tales From The Loon Town Cafe Page 36
