“Until these past few months, I’d have said Spruce Lake wasn’t as violent or colorful,” Adam said. “Now, I don’t know.”
Lucy looked around. Small, round lopsided tables littered the dark, scuffed wood floor and a row of booths lined the far wall. Behind the worn bar was a beveled mirror to watch the crowd. The mirror itself was an antique. Much of the bar and its decor was old but durable, adding a certain raw charm. A sign on a small stage in the back declared that Bo Crouse and the Miners were playing from eight-thirty until closing on Friday and Saturday, and the specials were written in Day-Glo chalk near the kitchen: Unlimited barbeque ribs for $6.99 and draft beers for a dollar.
Black-and-white photographs of the Kelley Mining Company lined the walls. Kelley had been the only major employer in Spruce Lake for decades. Mining equipment hung from the ceiling and an old mining cart was showcased in the corner, reminding Lucy of the cart she’d seen yesterday in the mine.
A bald, middle-aged man worked behind the bar, and the lone waitress-a skinny blonde in her midthirties who wore too-bright makeup and too-tight jeans-approached the table with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her tired eyes.
“Adam Hendrickson! You haven’t been by in forever. And you brought friends.” She appraised Sean as if he were a Playgirl centerfold and she the lucky photographer.
Adam introduced Sean and Lucy. “They’re friends visiting before the resort opens.” He looked over at them. “Trina was always nice to me when I visited in the summers.”
“Your arrival was always exciting! City boy visiting us hicks for two whole months. A cutie, too. Anything to liven up this town.” She then did a double take on Sean. “You’re the one Doc Woody was talking about!” Trina looked at Sean’s lap. “Twelve stitches, huh? Did it hurt?”
Sean gave Trina a self-deprecating nod and dimpled half-smile. Lucy had seen him turn on the charm like a faucet, and it never failed-whether the women were young or old, attached or single.
“Not much,” he said modestly.
While they talked about the “excitement,” as Trina called it, a sprinkling of pinpricks crawled up Lucy’s spine. They were being closely watched. She discreetly assessed the room. Many patrons were glancing over at them every now and again, but no one seemed unduly focused.
It would seem odd to most people that Lucy had a vivid physical reaction to being watched. In the past, she’d blamed her discomfort-and occasional panic-as remnants of her attack seven years ago. And, in the past, her reaction was psychosomatic; she’d felt as though she was being observed even when she wasn’t.
It had taken her years, but she’d learned to distinguish the difference between the psychological tension when she was in a large crowd and the real tension caused by undue attention. Sean had taught her to trust her instincts. Just because she couldn’t tell who was watching their table didn’t mean there wasn’t someone watching. And here? They were the strangers. She tried to dismiss her feelings, but she couldn’t stop the sensation crawling down her spine.
Adam said, “Trina, I know I’m getting the ribs, but could you bring a couple menus for my guests?”
“Sure! Can I get y’all some drinks first? We’re running a special on Miller in the bottle. Jon got a deal from the distributor.” She winked and walked off without waiting for them to agree to her recommendation.
Adam smiled. “Don’t tell her anything you don’t want the world to know.”
“She might come in handy,” Sean said.
“She hasn’t changed. No one has, really,” Adam said.
“Do you know most of the people in here tonight?” Sean asked.
Adam looked around, none too discreetly. “I recognize most everybody, though not all by name.” He smiled broadly and waved at an older, clean-cut man who walked in to the chime of two bells over the door. “It’s Mr. Callahan.”
Henry Callahan smiled broadly at Adam, who stood to shake his hand. “Adam! Good to see you, son,” Henry said.
“Thank you for meeting us,” Adam said, sliding over so Henry could sit.
Lucy wished they’d met in private, though she’d understood Sean’s reasons for making the meeting public. She didn’t know how forthcoming anyone would be in such a public venue. The bartender was watching their table, his face expressionless.
Adam introduced the group. “I haven’t been in here in months,” Henry said with a long sigh. “I’m getting old.”
“But you own the Lock amp; Barrel,” Adam said.
“Not anymore, I gave it to my nephew a couple years ago. Jon had already been running the place for years, and with Emma doing poorly, I don’t like being out of the house as much.”
“I’m sorry to hear Mrs. Callahan isn’t well.”
“Growing old wears you out.” But he smiled. “I’m glad you called, Adam. We’ve only talked a few times since Joe’s funeral.”
“Tim and I have been busy.”
“Joe would be happy that you and Tim are here, working together.”
“Not everyone is,” Sean said.
Henry shook his head. “I heard about the fire. Al Getty said it destroyed the kitchen?”
“Yes. We salvaged all that we could, and Tim is working out a plan to see if we can make the repairs in time for the grand opening.”
“When is that?”
“Memorial Day weekend.”
“Adam said you and his dad were close friends,” Sean said, steering the conversation toward their goal.
Henry smiled. “We grew up together. My dad was the foreman at the mine, worked for Joe’s in-laws, the Kelleys. Faced changes, the mine closure, the town dying. Births, deaths. Change hasn’t been kind to Spruce Lake.”
“Tim and I think the resort will be a good change,” Adam said. “But someone has been vandalizing our equipment for months. And with the arson-we don’t know if we’re going to be able to pull it off.”
“People get set in their ways, and change scares them.”
“The town is dying,” Adam repeated. “The resort will create jobs and industry. It’s a good thing!”
“I agree, son, I do, but after everything that happened with the Swain family, people don’t exactly like the idea of strangers around. That left a sour taste.”
Lucy said, “Who are the Swains?”
“Satan’s spawn,” Henry said, the words sounding odd coming out of the mouth of such a soft-spoken man. “Six years ago, Paul Swain finally went to prison. Followed in his father’s footsteps, that’s for sure.”
“What were they convicted for?”
“Lawson Swain, Paul’s dad, was a couple years older than Joe and me. A big bully. Went to prison for killing his girlfriend. And everyone knows he killed his wife-the mother of his kids-though no one could prove it.”
“Where is he now?” Sean asked.
“Lawson is dead. Rumor has it he led a prison riot, and was stabbed to death by a fellow inmate with a knife made from a tube of toothpaste. But Paul was already ten times shrewder than his dad. Paul was the one and only drug dealer in Spruce Lake. Hooked a whole generation of kids, but not just here. He was selling everywhere. What did they call it? Distributing? Had a house where they made that chemical drug.”
“Methamphetamine?” Lucy prompted.
“That’s it, I think. Well, there was a big sting, and Paul and a dozen others were arrested. The press-state and national-were here, reporters from television to newspapers to radio. We all had short tempers then. The way the media depicted our little town was nothing short of slander. As if we were all drug dealers. They didn’t understand that anyone who stood up to the Swains were dead. We just did what we had to do to survive. And that’s why most of us don’t cotton to strangers.”
“You mean you knew what was going on?” Adam asked.
“We didn’t know, not as fact, but Joe and I suspected Paul was doing something illegal. It was easier to ignore it. Safer.” He shook his head. “Your dad only had you two months out of the year. He only showe
d you the good side of Spruce Lake.”
Adam seemed distraught, and Lucy said, “What happened after Paul Swain went to prison? Did things improve?”
“That’s a matter of perspective.”
“Perspective?”
“The devil you know …” Henry’s voice faded away.
“Henry,” Adam began, but then Henry smiled meekly and waved his hand.
“Ignore me. I’m just feeling old today.”
Lucy glanced at Sean. He was thinking the same thing she was-something secret was going on and Henry Callahan knew what it was. But he was scared or too intimidated to talk.
Sean said, “What do you think about the vandalism at the Hendricksons’? Is it simply someone who doesn’t want change or someone who doesn’t want growth?”
“I honestly don’t know. Tim … he may be Joe’s son, but he’s not like Adam. He hasn’t been here in years. People don’t know him or trust him.” Henry looked at Adam. “You’re part of Spruce Lake. Tim isn’t. No one’s going to trust him.”
Lucy suspected it was more than that. She said, “The vandalism may be about distrust of Tim, but it’s also about stopping the resort. Who benefits if the resort doesn’t open?”
“I think the question you should be asking is, who is hurt if the resort opens?”
Henry excused himself and shuffled to the bathroom, stopping twice to talk to patrons.
“What does he mean?” Adam asked.
“The devil you know,” Sean muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I need more information about the Swains, and what happened to their drug operation. I think there may be a new player in town, far more dangerous than local boy Swain.”
“But what does that have to do with the resort?” Adam asked.
Lucy explained. “If there’s a criminal enterprise in town, anything that upsets the apple cart is a threat.”
Lucy again felt the chill of being watched. She glanced at the bar, and this time saw a man staring right at her. He had stringy brown hair to his shoulders, a red plaid shirt, and a partial beard. Seeing her look his way, he winked. She turned away.
Sean picked up on her discomfort and followed her gaze to the bar. “Who’s that guy?” he asked Adam.
“Gary Clarke,” he said. “Don’t know anything about him, just that his family has been in town forever.”
“And the guy he’s sitting with?”
“Andy Knolls. He owns the Gas-n-Go. One pump, small grocery store-we passed it driving in. He’s a nice enough guy, used to give out lollipops whenever kids came into the gas station.”
“We need to put together a Spruce Lake family tree, so to speak,” Lucy said. “Maybe if we can see the connections between the people in town, something will stand out.”
Sean said, “I’ll ask my partner in D.C. to run backgrounds on the Swains, Clarkes, and Knolls. What about other property owners? Who borders your land, other than the Callahans?”
“Everything on the eastern side of the highway is state land-part of the Adirondack State Park system. South of us-some is county and the rest is privately owned, I think.”
Henry returned and sat back down. “Adam,” he said, “I hope you take this advice in the spirit in which it is offered-your father was my closest friend. There’s a reason why he never tried to open a resort. Maybe you and Tim need to rethink your plans. Just for a year or two.”
“I thought Dad just wasn’t organized. He didn’t like the paperwork and permits. I remember when he built the house, he complained for years about county regulations.”
Henry sighed and shook his head. “That was part of it, for sure, but he understood that Spruce Lake isn’t Lake Placid. We like our quiet way of life. But, Tim is like your father. Stubborn. I’m sure he doesn’t want to postpone. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
His eyes were on a man approaching their table. He was about Henry’s age, but taller and with more hair-all of it silver. His pale blue eyes were magnified behind thick glasses, and he shook Henry’s hand warmly. “Henry Callahan, how are you? And Emma?”
“I’m well, thank you. Emma has her good days and bad days.”
Henry introduced the group to Reverend Carl Browne.
“Adam,” Browne said, “it’s been good seeing you in church. Maybe you can bring your brother once or twice.”
Adam smiled sheepishly. “I try.”
“I was sorry to hear about the fire. I hope there wasn’t too much damage.”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
“Did I see Jon come in a few minutes ago?” Browne asked.
“I didn’t see him,” Henry said, looking around. His eyes came to rest on a man coming out of the kitchen. Presumably Jon, he was speaking with a wiry man with skin darker than a moonless night. The black man wore a well-washed white smock and chef’s hat. After a brief conversation, he went back to the kitchen and Jon Callahan waved to their group.
Henry’s nephew, current owner of the Lock amp; Barrel, was in his midforties. He stood straight, though was no taller than Lucy’s five feet seven inches. Physically trim with conservatively cut dark, graying hair, he wore pressed jeans, a turtleneck, and a sweater. His watch looked expensive, but Lucy supposed it could have been a knockoff. She didn’t pay much attention to fashion.
Lucy didn’t know whether Henry was simply tired or wasn’t thrilled to see his nephew. But as Jon stepped up to the table, shaking hands like a politician, Henry smiled. “Hello, Jon.”
“Uncle Henry, you should have told me you were coming by! I would have had dinner with you.”
“I took your aunt on a drive today,” Henry said. “It was such a lovely spring day, but she’s a bit worn out and went to bed early. I thought I’d take advantage of the longer days to stop by for a drink, pick up some supplies.”
“I can bring you anything you need; all you have to do is ask.”
“You do more than enough, Jon. Have you met Adam’s friends?”
After introductions, Henry said, “I should go and check on my wife. She still gets around all right, but I don’t want her becoming disoriented in the dark.”
He said his good-byes and left. Lucy exchanged a glance with Sean. He silently agreed that the conversation was unusually brief, as if Henry didn’t want to stay around talking to either his nephew or Browne.
“Would you like to sit?” Adam asked them.
“Just for a minute,” Jon said. “It’s Thursday night and I came in to run payroll. Not a big staff, but it takes time.”
“I’m going to hit the road, too,” said Browne. “Nice to meet you folks. If you’re around this weekend, please stop by the church. Don’t matter what faith, just a short little sermon and a nice little choir. Ten a.m.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said. “That sounds lovely.”
The minister left and Jon pulled up a chair from a neighboring table. “I’m sorry about the trouble you’ve been having on your property,” he told Adam.
Adam nodded. “Do you have any idea who might be doing this?”
“You probably know everyone in town,” Sean added quickly. “Anyone unusually upset about the resort plans?”
“Everyone has an opinion. Mostly, we don’t want change, even if it might be a good thing. But I don’t know who’s behind the vandalism, Adam. I wish I did, sorry.”
Jon paused, then added, “Maybe if you just held off a year or so, let people in town get to know Tim, get reacquainted with you, you can start fresh.”
Lucy was instantly suspicious. That was almost the exact same thing Henry Callahan had said.
But maybe since Henry and Jon were related, they talked often, and since right now the resort was number one on everyone’s minds, if they had come to the conclusion that postponing the resort was a good idea, they both could have espoused the viewpoint as if it were their own. It was a plausible theory, though Lucy wasn’t certain their response wasn’t somehow orchestrated.
Sean said, “Jon ha
s a point.”
Lucy and Adam both looked at him. His face was blank, or rather, Lucy thought, intentionally blank. He had a plan.
“I’m not waiting,” Adam said, stubborn. “The police will find out who did this.” He turned to Jon. “The Spruce Lake Resort will help revitalize the town. Bring it back to the way it was when my dad was a kid.”
“Have you thought that maybe people here like the quiet life?” Sean asked.
“Jobless and depressed?” Adam countered. “I don’t think so.”
“We’re doing fine,” Jon said. “Look, Adam, I’m not wholly opposed to the idea of bringing in tourists. Right now just isn’t a good time. You and Tim settle in, take your time, and then I’ll be there helping you. But right now, people are skeptical and, to be honest, scared of change.”
“That fear doesn’t justify burning down our property!” Adam said.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Jon said calmly. “I have an idea. Do you want to hear it?”
Adam frowned and said nothing. Sean said, “Sure. I’ll pass it on to Tim.”
“It’s really simple.” Jon smiled and looked from Sean to Lucy and back. “Tell Tim if he slows down, I’ll meet with him in a couple weeks, he can lay all his plans out for me, and I’ll help him sell the idea to the people of Spruce Lake. I think what they’re really scared about is how fast this is all happening. Joe only died last spring.”
“Fourteen months ago,” Adam said.
“And in a town like this, it feels like weeks, not months.” Jon rose and shook everyone’s hand. “I’m happy to come out to talk to you all.”
Sean said, “I’ll talk to Tim.”
“Good. By the way, how do you know him?” Jon asked.
“From the city,” Sean said.
“Right. New York.”
“Boston,” Sean corrected.
Lucy watched Jon Callahan leave. “He was trying to trip us up, see if we really know the Hendricksons,” Lucy said. “He knew Tim lived in Boston.”
“The question is why?” Sean asked.
“Jon Callahan?” Adam shook his head. “Henry was my dad’s closest friend. They’ve been neighbors their entire life.”
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