by Doug Allyn
“You’re obviously an out-of-towner,” Megan said drily. “Nobody would steal art in Huron Harbor. I’d be lucky to get ten bucks a pop at the county fair. But in a chic gallery in the Apple, with suitable framing... You’re smiling. Do you find my work amusing?”
“Of course,” Calderon said, glancing at her. “It’s meant to be ironic, isn’t it?”
“In what way?”
“The chains,” he said. “They’re not attached to anything.”
“That’s it exactly,” Megan said, nodding in approval. “You’d be amazed how many politically correct types who babble about the meaning of my work miss that aspect of it completely. The truth is, the chains of our own making are heavier than any the world puts on us. Or at least it’s my truth.”
“It’s true, I think,” Ray said, “and not only for women.”
“No, not just women. We all shackle ourselves one way or another. You’re very perceptive. I take it you’re the Mr. Calderon Mitch phoned me about. Forgive me for rattling on. You two didn’t come to talk about art. How can I help you?”
“Mrs. McClain said you stopped by while my brother was visiting her. I was hoping you could tell me something that... Well, that might help.”
“I heard they found his car,” she said. “I’m very sorry, he seemed like a nice young man. But I don’t see how I can help you. He left a few minutes after I arrived.”
“Mrs. McClain said they’d been drinking,” I prompted.
“Yes, I think they’d both had a few, but... Look, I intended to be tactful, but I’ve got no talent for it. And considering what’s happened, maybe the truth flat out is better. And the truth is, your brother had a pretty fair buzz going, Mr. Calderon. He was flushed, and he was more than a little aggressive. In fact, I asked him to leave.”
“You asked him to leave? Why?” Ray asked.
“He was out of line,” Megan said bluntly. “He was going on about how he’d been cheated all his life, and part of this, which I took to mean Audrey’s home and whatever, should have been his. Audrey was upset and... Anyway, I asked him to leave and he did.”
“How drunk would you say he was? Too drunk to drive?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Megan said, frowning. “I mean, he wasn’t staggering or anything. But since I don’t drive myself, it’s hard for me to judge.”
“You don’t drive?”
“I’m a New Yorker. I attended college here, then came back to live a dozen years or so ago. The town’s small, so I either ride my bike or walk. I was jogging that day. In any case, your brother left, and that’s really all I can tell you. I’m sorry. This must be awful for you. I wish I could help.”
“Perhaps you can. Did you know Mrs. McClain’s husband Walter?”
“Walter?” Megan said, surprised. “Not really. I met him once or twice when I was in school.”
“You were in school together?”
“No, he was a few years older, but Audrey was quite active in the arts when I was an undergrad, so I knew her. They came to fundraisers and things together. God, they were a gorgeous couple in those days. Life can be... Well, you know.”
“Actually I don’t. What happened to them?”
“Walt died in Viet Nam and Audrey had a fall. Lost her baby and the use of her legs. Lost everything, really.”
“Take a look at this,” he said, handing her the photograph. “Would you say this is a good likeness of Mr. McClain?”
She grimaced. “Doesn’t do him justice. He was quite a hunk back then.”
“And now?” Calderon said. “What would he look like now?”
“Now?” she echoed, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“The FBI has computers that can age a person’s photograph. You’re an artist, a very good one. Do you think you could sketch a likeness of Walter the way he might look today?”
“You want a sketch of Walter?” she said. “What on earth for? I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either. But my brother came to this town looking for a man and a few hours later he disappeared. Maybe it was an accident. But if it wasn’t, I can only think of one person who’d have a reason to harm him.”
“You mean Walter? But he’s dead.”
Calderon shrugged. “So people keep telling me. But suppose he isn’t?”
“Look, I’m very sorry for your trouble,” Megan said curtly, “but I couldn’t do what you ask even if I thought you might be right. Audrey McClain is an old friend who’s had more than her share of pain in her life. I wouldn’t risk hurting her for the world. I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” Calderon said. “I understand. Thank you for seeing me. And I really do like your work very much. If you think of anything that might help, I’m at the Harbor Inn.” He took the photo from her and walked across the deck and down the stairway.
“What an intriguing young man,” Megan said thoughtfully. “Have you known him long?”
“No ma’am,” I said. “I scarcely know him at all.”
“Do you have any idea how crazy that sounded?” I asked. We were in my Jeep, headed back to the Nest.
“Maybe it did,” he said quietly. “But it kept eating at me all day in the chopper, looking down at all that empty water. I kept asking myself how my brother could vanish so quickly. And the only answer I could come up with is Walter McClain.”
“But Mrs. McClain said he never came back here. They even had him declared dead.”
“Well, for openers, he wouldn’t have come back here right away, not with the army looking for him. But let’s say he showed up a few years later. Do you really think his father would turn him in to the army to do a long stretch in Leavenworth for attempted murder? Or would he help him start over? Buy him a new identity, maybe even cosmetic surgery? The family can obviously afford it.”
“But since he’s still wanted by the military, why would he risk staying here? He could be anywhere.”
“No, I think he’d be nearby. His people are here, his money’s here. But most of all, I think he’s here because my brother fell off the world the day he showed up looking for him.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “What are you going to do?”
“In the morning I’m going out with the Coast Guard again for another air search over the lake. If we come up empty, they’ll have done all they can and they’ll pack it in.”
“But you won’t?”
“No ma’am, I’ll just be getting started.”
“And will you be looking for your brother? Or Walter?”
“My brother’s the reason I came. But I may ask around about the possibly-not-so-late Mr. McClain while I’m at it.”
“You’ll be dredging up a lot of unhappiness the McClain family would rather forget, and probably for nothing.”
“Sorry about that. Sometimes the truth hurts.”
“You’re the one it could hurt, Ray. This is a small town. The McClains have a lot of friends and a fair amount of clout.”
“How much clout? Do they own Sheriff Bauer, for instance?”
“No, nobody owns Charlie. But even if you’re right and Walter is here, which I don’t believe for a second, won’t asking a lot of questions scare him off?”
“He didn’t run when my brother asked about him. He took him out. But Jimmy was really just a kid. I haven’t been a kid for a long, long time.”
“I see,” I said slowly, and I really did. “You think if he’s here he may try to kill you, don’t you? And you want him to.”
He looked over at me a moment, with eyes as empty as an Aztec mask. He didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to.
I did my best to put Ray Calderon and his problems out of my mind the next day. I left the cook and a waitress on their own in the Nest, locked myself in the dive shop, and began the post-summer inventory. Masks, snorkels, fins, lures, every display had to be checked against the stock lists. The diving season was over, but the hunting season was already on us, and soon I’d need to spend most of my time in the bar/
restaurant half of the Nest.
I suppose taking inventory should be considered scut work, but the truth is I love doing it, love being alone in my own shop with the sweet-oily scent of new gear, the gumdrop colors of hyperthane fins and snorkels. I grew up in this shop, and some of the happiest times of my childhood were here. So I time-traveled as I worked, spending a few hours with the girl I’d been, and sometimes glimpsing the person I’ve become through her eyes. We get along quite well, that girl and I.
But we weren’t alone. Images of Ray and his brother kept intruding at odd moments. I grew up without siblings. When my son Corey was born I was young, single, and on my own. When I went to work on the platforms, I had no options but to place him in a private school. And when my father died and I moved up here, Corey asked if he could stay in school for the time being, with his friends.
Being away from Corey is an agony for me. But at least when we part I know I’ll see him again soon. I could only imagine what Jimmy’s death meant to Ray, and yet his pain seemed so real to me that it might have been my own.
Sympathy? Or were we connecting on a deeper, more intense level? I conceded that I found him attractive, and I sensed the same feelings in him. But at this point in my life...
A knock on the shop door snapped me out of it. I considered not answering, but whoever was knocking could read the Closed sign. Ray? I opened it cautiously.
“Hi,” Megan Lundy panted, “got a minute?” Her face was flushed and dewy from running and she was dressed for it, in a faded mauve sweat suit and high-mileage Nikes.
“Come on in,” I said. “Can I get you a drink? Water? Gatorade? Whatever?”
“No, thanks,” she said, glancing around the shop curiously. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about your friend Calderon. Are we alone?”
“Just us and the ghosts of summer,” I said. “What about Ray?”
“He’s been making me crazy. That little speech he made last night about Walter McClain, and what he might look like now? Mind you, I don’t think he’s right, but... I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head. So I did a few sketches, variations of the picture he showed me.” She gave me a sketch pad, but held my hand closed on it.
“Promise me you’ll be careful with this,” she said. “I want to help, but wouldn’t want Audrey McClain to think I was being disloyal.”
“Keeping Calderon discreet is becoming a second career for me lately,” I said, opening the book. The first two drawings showed Walter with various beards. The third made me pause.
“That one’s Walter plus a couple of metric tons,” she explained, watching my face.
“He seems familiar,” I said.
“Yes, I noticed it too,” she said. “He looks a bit like Wally’s Uncle Gordon. Probably just a family resemblance. Blubber tends to blur lines of distinction.”
“Too true,” I said, flipping through the others. They showed Walter bald, partially bald, and... with a bushy mane of hair and a seamed face. “This one could almost be Ross.”
“It could also be David Bowie on a bad hair day,” Megan said wryly. “That’s the problem. Once you start wondering about a thing like this, you start to see Walter’s ghost everywhere. I imagine that’s how conspiracy cults get started.”
“What’s this one?” I asked. It was a cartoon sketch of a crone, at least eighty.
“A cautionary reminder.”
“Of what? It’s an old woman.”
“Look again. For a young woman.”
“Ah,” I said, nodding, “right. I see her.” The two faces shared the same lines, but the women depicted were decades apart, facing in different directions.
“It’s a child’s game, but it might be a good thing for Ray to keep in mind. These are just sketches. They don’t prove anything, and by the way, I’m doing them as much for you as for your friend.”
“For me?”
“I enjoyed talking to you yesterday. You struck me as an interesting character. I love this town and the lake country, but sometimes, as a professional woman on my own, I feel like what’s-her-name in Clan of the Cave Bear. Ever get that feeling?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Not often.”
“My life’s a shambles right now,” Megan said briskly. “I’m having a solo show in New York at the end of the month and I still have several paintings to finish. But afterwards? We should get together for an evening, just to get acquainted.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I really like your work.”
“I’d say the same,” she said, glancing curiously around the shop, “if I had the vaguest idea of what it is you do. But I look forward to hearing about it. When the first snow flies?” She offered me her hand. “Deal?”
“Deal,” I agreed. “When the first snow flies.”
“Interesting,” Ray said, flipping through the sketches that night. Dinner at the Nest was becoming a habit, or perhaps I just hoped it would. He looked tired. He’d flown most of the day with the Coast Guard chopper. No luck. He paused a moment at the sketch that resembled Ross. Then flipped past it. “Last night she said she wouldn’t help. Why did she change her mind?”
“I don’t know. She said she couldn’t get the idea out of her head.”
“I know the feeling,” he said. “So. Other than what’s-his-name, Ross? Does anyone else look familiar?”
“I’m not sure. There are twelve thousand people in this town, thirty thousand in the county. That may be small potatoes compared to Detroit or Norfolk, but it’s still a lot of people.”
“My mother said Jimmy was taller than his father, but not as heavily built. That eliminates everybody who isn’t roughly six foot, say a hundred and seventy pounds minimum. Does that narrow it down any?”
The edge in Ray’s voice made me hesitant to mention the overweight Walter’s resemblance to Gordon McClain. And fortunately, Charlie Bauer interrupted us. He spotted us as soon as he stepped into the room, and came directly over. He may have looked normal to Ray, his brown county uniform slighty disheveled, his freckled face open as an apple pie. But something was up. I sensed it in the way he moved.
“Mitch, mind if I join you?” He took the chair beside me without waiting for an answer. “I heard the air search came up empty again today, Mr. Calderon. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” Ray said. “The pilot was a good man, though. A stone pro. He did his best.”
“And so did we,” Charlie said. “My men extended their range today. We either checked with the owners or searched the beach ourselves for a full ten miles along the south shore. We found no sign of your brother, and I’m afraid that’s all we can do for the present. If anything develops, I’ll contact you, of course. Will you be heading back to Norfolk?”
“Not right away. I’ll be staying on awhile.”
“I see. To look for your brother?”
“For that. And maybe more. Let me ask you straight out, Charlie. The song and dance Mrs. McClain gave us about her husband being dead, legally and otherwise? Did you buy it?”
“I think she believes it,” Charlie said carefully. “Maybe she needs to. Which doesn’t necessarily make it true. On the other hand, even if she’s wrong and he is alive, which I seriously doubt, he’s not around here.”
“I understand there are thirty thousand people in this county. Do you know them all personally?”
“Nope, but I knew Walt. Played high school football with him, in fact. He was a few years older, but I knew him.”
“How long ago was that?”
“More years than I’d care to recall,” Charlie said, unoffended. “But I think I’d still know him if I met him.”
“Would you? How about these people?” he said, passing Charlie the sketch pad. “Do you know any of them?”
Charlie riffled through the pages, quickly at first, then again more slowly. He frowned at the cartoon of the old/young woman, then smiled. “Nice work. I’m impressed. Where’d you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do any of them look f
amiliar?”
“Sure. All of them. They’re all Walter. Plus they’re general enough to resemble a fair number of folks.”
“Good. So if I show them around enough, someone might recognize someone eventually.”
“Possibly. People still spot Elvis now and again. An identification from a sketch doesn’t prove anything.”
“I’m not interested in proving anything. But if he’s here, there’s a good chance he knows what happened to my brother. And I think he’ll tell me.”
“I see. You know, Mr. Calderon, I lost a brother once. In Viet Nam. I came back, he didn’t. And it still hurts. And because of that, I’m not unsympathetic to your situation. But I can’t have you crashin’ around the countryside on some vigilante manhunt. Nothing’d come of it but trouble.”
“I haven’t broken any laws, Sheriff. But Walter McClain has. He attempted murder once, and maybe he’s still at it. Aren’t you interested in finding him? Or does his family have a little too much... clout?”
Charlie eyed him for a moment without answering, but a rosy flush began to creep above his collar. “If Walter McClain was in my county, Mr. Calderon, I’d bust him like any other wanted felon, family or no. But I don’t believe that he is.”
“You think my brother just happened to have an accident a few hours after he showed up looking for Walter?”
“No sir, I didn’t say that. I don’t know what happened to your brother yet. Neither do you. And I’m not ignoring the fact that he disappeared very soon after he arrived here, or that foul play might have been involved.”
“No one here had a reason to harm him but Walter McClain.”
“That’s correct. No one here. But your brother was on parole. Maybe his problems followed him here. Or yours did.”
“Mine?”
“I took the liberty of doing a little checking on you, Mr. Calderon, nothing official, just a friendly phone call to my counterpart in Norfolk. He said you’re a colorful character. That since you got out of the navy you’ve been running with some rough people. Some of the same people your brother was mixed up with.”
