“Well, at least it’s not soy milk.”
We clink cans. “Amen.”
A couple of pelicans soar by and we watch them swing behind some trees.
“So this whole lake is a part of a river system.”
“Yup. Used to be a lot lower until they built dams further down.”
Charlie contemplates the spot where his toes dip in the water. “So this was a whole bunch of land before?”
“That’s why you see all those trees floating around.” I nod to the tangled root system sticking up out in the middle of the water. “They flooded the place and all of that eventually got uprooted.”
Charlie scrutinizes the lake. “You’re saying that big old tree out there could be half a century old.”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Maybe less. Maybe more.”
“And where do they go? Do they end up on shore?”
“Some do. Many follow the currents all the way down the river.”
“So if Terry ended up in the lake, he’d be carried wherever the water took him?”
“Maybe. Or gotten tangled up in some underwater tree branches.” It hits me how low our chances of finding this guy are.
Charlie perks up. “Well, if he’s stuck down there, his body will start to decay, create gas, and float to the top like a balloon.”
“You know too much about this stuff.”
“It’s about being informed,” he says. “Trouble is, this water is freakin’ cold and that’ll slow the process. Then there’s how far he sinks, what he was wearing, what the currents are underneath—”
Charlie screams and jumps up.
“Dude! What the hell?” I say, startled.
He flails desperately. “There’s a thing on my foot!”
“Stop moving.”
He holds up his foot and I lean over to study it. On the top of his index toe is a fat, juicy, black worm.
“That’s a leech,” I say matter-of-factly, “and a big one at that.”
“Well, get it off!” he shouts.
I love this—I mean I really love it. I touch the leech with my finger, and it coils a little but stays attached.
“Frick! Don’t play with it!”
Heather wanders down from the cabin. “What’s all the hollering about?”
“Charlie’s got a leech.”
“Oh, this’ll be good!”
I smile at her. “Heather, maybe we should be nice.”
Charlie stares at us, his face filled with anxiety.
“Hey, remember that one leech of yours?” Heather asks.
“I was, what, six?”
She nods, enjoying tormenting the poor guy. “And you held my hand while you cried like a baby.” She offers a hand to him. “Charlie, it’s okay if you want someone for support.”
“You guys!” he gasps. “Just get rid of it already!” He doesn’t seem impressed by our humour.
“Come on, Heather,” I prompt. “Give him a little dignity.”
“Fair enough.”
He cries out, “What do we do?”
Mom’s coming down the path toward us.
“Charlie’s got a leech!” Heather calls to her.
“I figured.”
“Are you guys for real right now? It’s feeding on my blood!”
Mom kneels beside him and takes his foot, studying it. “Charles, take a breath. You know, doctors sometimes use leeches in minor surgeries and even in plastic surgery. They secrete peptides and proteins that work to prevent blood clots. Who knows, this little guy could be used to help someone with diabetes who might otherwise lose a limb.”
“Please, Mrs. S., take it off,” Charlie pleads, eyes wide with anguished hope.
Mom pulls a shaker of salt from her sweater pocket and sprinkles it over the little beast. Immediately, it releases and rolls off. “There.”
I pick it up and toss it back in the water.
“Gross! And you swim out there?” Charlie shudders.
“There aren’t that many. Seriously,” I say. “And you saw how easy they are to remove.”
Charlie rushes off the dock, several feet from the water. Mom, Heather, and I can’t help but laugh.
Funny how a guy who can take a punch—or give a punch, for that matter—who isn’t afraid to rummage through the carcass of a dead dog, or tangle with a serial killer, can freak out over something so small.
I guess we all have our limits.
chapter 37
Charlie insists on setting the table. He argues that he needs to make up for not cooking and embraces the whole process, not letting any of us help. I think he’s enjoying it, which makes me wonder what supper at his house is like.
Dad doesn’t fail Charlie. The steak is on point and the salad he made is insane. Charlie expresses his gratitude and fills his plate. Heather’s eyes widen and she nods to his overflowing dish, but I wink back, knowing that Dad couldn’t be more pleased by this unfettered appreciation of his culinary skills.
That my sister and I can communicate without speaking is one of the great perks of our relationship.
“Mr. S., what did you do with this lettuce? I’ve never tasted anything like it!”
“Three rules I always follow when making salad. First, a solid base layer of greens. Second, choose your flavours carefully. In this, I have ricotta, cherry vinegar, and warmed spices—”
“Warmed?”
“—at this hour, you want something that raises the body temperature for the evening. Cinnamon, cloves, ginger, mustard seed. Not too heavy. Just enough.”
“And the third?”
“Drink plenty of wine and quit following dumb rules,” Dad says, smiling.
Charlie smiles too, enjoying the banter. “Of course, in my case,” and here he raises his glass and tips it toward Dad in a mock toast, “carbonated grapefruit water.”
“Until you’re of age, yes. Unfortunately, results may vary,” Mom says jokingly as she pours herself some more wine.
“Right you are, sweet wife,” Dad says, clinking his own glass with Mom’s.
Ring ring ring.
Mom stares at the landline on the wall. It rarely makes a noise.
Heather rises and answers. “Hello?” She turns toward Charlie. “Yes… yes… two seconds…” She sets the phone down, scrutinizing Charlie. “It’s for you.”
He gets up from the table and picks up the receiver. “Hello?” He steps around the corner, the spiral cord stretching to its max, but we can still hear him from down the hallway. “Yes, this is Charlie Wolfe.” He pauses as he listens to the person on the other end speak before replying. “Really? Oh that’s good to hear.” There’s another long pause. “Yes. Okay, thank you.”
He hangs up and sits back down, digging into his food. We all stare at him, wondering if we should ask.
“Charlie, what’s going on?” I finally inquire.
“Oh, it seems I lost my wallet when we were picking up groceries. Some nice old lady turned it in.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Which is good since it has my id and bank cards and few other sentimental photos and stuff.”
Mom is concerned. “And how did they know to call here?”
“Not sure.” He pauses, milking the moment, before snapping his fingers and saying, “You know, I did find the cabin number before I headed up here—in case I got lost.”
Heather frowns. “Interesting, since the number’s unlisted.”
Charlie just shakes his head and grins as if Heather should know better before turning to Mom and Dad. “I don’t suppose Shepherd could take me into town tomorrow to retrieve it?”
They know he’s put them in a corner.
“If it’s about gas money,” he hurries to say, “I’ll be happy to fill up the tank. I’d just really like to get my wallet
back.”
“Don’t worry, Charles. You guys can drive in tomorrow,” Dad responds. I can tell Mom wishes otherwise.
“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. S.”
We silently enjoy our food until Heather asks, “So, Charlie, how long are you staying?”
I’m a little shocked by her candidness. Whatever leniency she has for me is not allowed to Charlie.
“We said as long as he likes,” Mom says firmly.
I think she totally gets Charlie’s gig, and sees cases more unfortunate than his at her clinic. She might not know the details, but she understands where he’s coming from, probably literally.
“ ‘True friends visit us in prosperity only when invited, but in adversity, they come without hesitation,’ ” Dad quotes.
I roll my eyes.
“Theophrastus,” Charlie replies, and Dad’s impressed.
I feel a sliver of jealousy, but Heather pushes her point. “But you weren’t invited.”
Charlie flashes a smile. “Ah, but if I play my cards right, I may be someday.”
“So we never did hear what adversity brought you here?” Sometimes my sister is very perceptive, but I can see her question has left him speechless.
Mom’s fork clinks as she sets it down.
“Leeches, Heather,” I interject, breaking the mood. “Clearly, he’s here to protect us from the leeches.”
“Oh, no, Shepherd. They’re all yours,” Charlie remarks.
I’m thankful when everyone laughs, even Heather. But I don’t think she’s done with him yet.
chapter 38
Evening takes us to the fire and a bag of marshmallows, and I watch as Charlie sets his first two on fire. I can’t figure out how a guy with so many problem-solving skills can suck so bad at anything to do with nature or camping. By the third marshmallow, he gets the hang of it and I teach him how to pull off the toasted outside and eat the crisp gooeyness.
Eventually the night gets the better of my parents and they leave. Heather follows shortly thereafter and then it’s just Charlie and me.
“Wow, your sister was totally cross-examining me at supper.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“No, it’s cool.” He’s animated.
“Yeah?”
“Totally. I’d hate to face off against her in court, though. She’s scary.”
I take the marshmallow stick from Charlie and set it just above some coals on the edge of the fire. “So, a nice old lady found your wallet?”
“Isn’t that the darndest?”
“I don’t suppose it was by the suppositories.”
“You know, I’m not really sure. You fine with going in tomorrow?”
“So long as you don’t wake me at the crack of dawn. I’m supposed to be on vacation.”
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“I’m guessing you don’t only need a Wi-Fi fix?”
“Well, doughnuts, coffee, then Wi-Fi…”
“And then?”
“I’d like to know why Huber thought I was on drugs.”
“Um. Dude. You did buy some pot from one of his employees. Maybe he saw something or maybe they told him.”
“Yeah, but why would he think I’d care enough to give him a hard time?”
“What are you talking about?”
“He called me a drughead and said something about us going there to bust his ass.”
“Why would someone on drugs care about him?”
“Exactly. But that’s not the only thing. Supplies are drying up in town.”
“What do you mean? Like drugs?”
He nods. “That quarter ounce I bought? The guy said it was all he had and it was way too over-priced.”
“So? Maybe he took you for a city boy and scammed you.”
“He’s not the only one.”
I stare at him. “Diane?”
“Somebody was delivering to her and I want to know who.”
“Does any of this connect with Terry?”
“It’s about picking at threads, Shepherd. Sooner or later, I’m hoping something will unravel.”
chapter 39
Cousin Rachel sits in Cup of Joan’s, sipping her coffee and watching the pretty little thing who runs the place. The young woman works her way back and forth between the tables, taking orders, prepping, serving, and clearing the dishes away. Cousin Rachel remembers her own days working in the service industry—and hating every minute of it. Dealing with customers and all their needs and complaints. She’d come home grouchy and miserable, always needing time to decompress before spending time with her son and husband.
It takes a certain kind of person, she thinks.
Despite this Terry business becoming a hell of a thing to deal with, it hasn’t fazed her. One man’s stupid actions had burnt this whole town and there’d be no coming back here for a long time. But her bosses could move on to another place and set up shop and recover. They’d have to rebuild the infrastructure, forge new relationships, and find the right people to deliver. It would take lots of time, money, and patience, but there was always a demand for what they were selling.
Best of all, Cousin Rachel and her bosses dictated the terms, which made customer complaints a thing of the past. You can’t pay up? Oh, well. Don’t like how we treat you? Deal with it. Don’t like our prices? Don’t matter. Feel like we don’t care about you? You’re absolutely right.
She’d become a happier person after getting into this business. Despite the occasional layovers in towns like this one, she was generally able to arrive home relaxed, with enough energy to spend more time with her family, and be present in the moment with them.
She goes back to her to-do list. Although the restaurant around her is busy, she’s not worried. If one of its nosey patrons does get curious about what this stranger is doing in town, they’d understand nothing if they glimpsed at her notes: a collection of code, initials, and chicken-scratch numbers that’s difficult to decipher.
But Rachel understands all of it.
The writing at the top refers to a guy named Goat Friesen. When he wasn’t hanging out at the Hillside Bar, he was pushing amphetamines and coke on the workers from the nearby potash mine who used his cocktail of drugs to get through their long shifts. The little symbol beside his name means that Cousin Rachel has dealt with him, sending him down a narrow, bottomless hole that he won’t be getting out of again anytime soon.
She raises a hand and the waitress quickly comes over.
“Busy day for you,” Cousin Rachel says.
“Yeah, but I can’t complain. ‘Busy is better than bankrupt,’ my mother always said.”
“Smart lady.”
“Yes, she was. Want a top-up?”
“Yes, please. And the bill.”
As the server walks away, Cousin Rachel can’t help but admire her attitude. She could never have maintained one like it.
She goes back to her list. The series of coded letters below “Goat” spells out “Jeannie,” aka Genie’s House, who sold lsd, pcp, and ketamine out of her fashionable, upscale home on the hill. There’s also a little symbol beside her name that indicates Cousin Rachel took her on a one-way road trip.
Unfortunately, Cousin Rachel’s list of notations is incomplete. Little Joe, the one who had set her up with the dead guy, has been picked up by the cops. She doesn’t like having him in jail; he might open his big, fat mouth if they try to intimidate him. She doesn’t have enough resources or the appropriate contacts to deal with him on the inside, but as soon as she has a chance, she’ll take care of him too.
The waitress brings over her bill and Cousin Rachel opens her purse. She tips well, not so extravagantly as to draw attention, but definitely far better than the locals, who probably don’t respect the work this woman does for them on a daily basis.
She checks her schedule one more time. It’s Monday. Little Joe will be released soon. The police won’t hold him for too long because he kept his hands clean in public and was smart enough to distribute his stuff through a gang of young punks. Her plan was to greet him at his home, then take him out to a nice spot behind his salvage yard where she would slit his throat. She’d figured she could still make it to her son’s competition on time.
She stands, gathering up her notebook and phone and slipping them into her bag. She gives her bill and money to the woman behind the counter dealing with a crotchety old hag who’s upset that her meal hasn’t yet arrived. As Cousin Rachel reaches the door, she can’t help but think that, yes indeed, it takes a certain kind of person to deal with people like that.
chapter 40
When morning comes, I keep my eyes closed, listening to the birds chirp, not wanting to get up. Finally, I drag myself out of bed, only to find Charlie in the chair beside me.
“You’ve got to stop being so creepy,” I mumble.
“You told me to let you sleep in, so I did.”
I didn’t expect him to keep his promise.
“It’s not normal, you know, sitting beside someone and staring at them.”
“I wasn’t staring at you.”
Right. “How long have you been there?”
“Not that long.”
“Still, super weird. Hand me my shirt, would you?”
Charlie hands it to me and I put it on.
“Why didn’t you go hang out with Diane?” I joke.
“She wasn’t around.”
“Really? You’ve checked already?”
“Of course. We going to chit-chat all day, Shepherd, or are we going to get going?”
“What about coffee? Or breakfast? Maybe a morning swim?”
“Coffee is made. And need I remind you that we will be having doughnuts for breakfast. And swim? With those gross bottom-feeders around? Not a chance.”
I laugh and make my way to the kitchen. “I’ll get you into the lake yet.”
chapter 41
As soon as we get to town, we go to the grocery store and pick up Charlie’s wallet. He isn’t inside long and when he hops back in the car, he asks me to take him to Cup of Joan’s.
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