Serenity Stalked

by Craig A. Hart

  “Come on in,” Shelby said in response to a knock on the door of Cabin 5.

  Fritz walked in, carrying a six-pack of Bud Light. Shelby eyed the beer with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

  “I thought you were bringing beer, not water.”

  “Don’t be a snob,” Fritz said. “Besides, I’m seein a softness around your waistline.”

  Shelby wanted to be offended, but Fritz was right. And he wasn’t ready to admit he’d begun making personal concessions on the same front. He was fortunate to be in good enough physical shape to remain active. This had given him the advantage in the battle of the bulge most men his age faced. But he knew the tide was turning. His taste for high-calorie beer was not the only factor, but it contributed. He knew he was softening, and his athlete’s mind rebelled against the idea. It would be easy to lapse into denial, but that would only exacerbate the issue.

  “Fine,” Shelby said. “It’s better than nothing.”

  Fritz detached a couple of beers and tossed them over. He sat down on a rickety folding chair, popped open a can, and took a long drink. He belched, sighed, and crossed his right leg over his knee.

  “I notice you’re packin heat.”

  Shelby opened his can and sat down on the bed. He patted the pistol strapped to his side.

  “Yeah…and I might even need it.”

  “So tell me what the fuck is up.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Shel. I know it’s your normal state, but I ain’t in the mood. You’re hidin out from someone.”

  Shelby smiled. He took another drink and then told Fritz the short version of all the recent events.

  “I’ve heard about this Wilkes fella. Can’t say I’ve met anyone who likes the man.”

  “Have you run into him?”

  Fritz chewed at his moustache. “He came snoopin around here when he first took over. Claimed he wanted to make sure all my permits were in order.”

  “The man does like to snoop.”

  “He didn’t find anything, so he gave me a lecture about representin the area to tourists and drove off. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “He’s insufferable, all right.”

  “Any idea who shoved the stick up his ass?”

  “Who knows why people are the way they are? And I admit I don’t much care in Wilkes’ case. I just want him to leave me the fuck alone.”

  “You think he’s the one who left the knife?”

  “I’m not sure. It could have been. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “And maybe he waited for the blood work to come back so he would have better reason to pick you up.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I don’t know, is all. I’m not resisting the idea. In a way, I’d like for Wilkes to be attempting a frame job on me. If I caught him, he’d be out of my way for good. But I can’t seem to buy it.”

  Fritz opened another beer. “It seems obvious to me. But on to more pleasant topics. How’s the young thing you run around with these days?”

  “Carly is fine.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Don’t be a dirty old man.”

  Fritz laughed. “I ain’t the one fuckin her.”

  “You make a good point.”

  “So she’s still puttin up with you, eh?”

  “I hate to admit I wonder how long it’s going to last.”

  “My advice is enjoy it, because eventually she’ll see the, what you say, error of her ways.”

  “I don’t doubt it. In a way, I feel as if I should be a gentleman and break it off now.”

  “So why haven’t you?” Fritz asked. “Besides the obvious reason, I mean.”

  “That’s something else I hate to admit.”

  “You ain’t fallin for her, are you?”

  “Quaint terminology, but yes. I think I am.”

  “See, I knew you were an idiot.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Shelby, having finished both his beers, gestured for another. Fritz tossed one over, and Shelby opened it. “So I find myself in the most rewarding relationship of my life and I know it’s doomed. The longer it keeps going, the more difficult and heart-rending it will be to break it off.”

  “She may save you the trouble.”

  “Sometimes I hope that’s the case. But then I realize how shallow it makes her sound. Not to mention it makes me out to be a pussy. Carly has her faults and eccentricities, but being shallow isn’t one of them. She may end up facing reality, but it’s as likely she’ll try to stick with it. Which also makes me wonder if the best thing would be for me to end it sooner rather than later.”

  “Heavy stuff for a six-pack.”

  “You got any more?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Fritz said. “Be right back.” He stood up and walked out of the cabin, leaving the door open. Shadows were lengthening, but it was still light enough to allow Shelby to watch his friend walk across the open yard to his old car and pop the trunk. Fritz reached in and came out with two more six-packs. He held them up like trophies. “Fridge broke a month back,” he called out, “so I been keepin perishables in the trunk.” He trotted back to the cabin. “I guess I’ll have to get the fridge fixed once spring sets in for real. But it brought my electric bill down.”

  “How long have you owned that thing?”

  “At least twenty-five years. It was the only thing my pa left me. It was in bad shape then.”

  “You’re the one who restored it?”

  “And kept it maintained since. Hell, I wasn’t always a backwoods campground manager. Back when I was young, I had a good job, all my hair, and a libido that wouldn’t quit. Lived in California. The late 60s, free love, drugs. I wasn’t a hippie, but I knew a lot of em. They let me hang around because I bankrolled a lot of their parties. I could tell you some stories about them parties. Did I ever tell you I met Manson?”

  “Charles Manson?”

  “Creepy sumbitch. Ran into him at a party up in the hills. He looked me in the eye and said something I’ll never forget.”

  Shelby caught himself leaning forward in anticipation.

  “He looked me right in the eye and said, all low and scary: ‘Friend…where’s the shitter?’ Can you believe it?” Fritz paused for a drink. “I meet Charles Manson and he has to take a shit.”

  Shelby laughed. “If he’d said anything more meaningful, you might be dead.”

  “Nah, I never went in for that nonsense. I was there for the drugs, is all. No interest in reachin my, what you say, inner self or changin the world or whatever else the fuck those people thought they were doin back then.”

  “You’re honest, Fritz. That’s what I like about you.”

  “If folks were meant to explore their inner selves, we’d be born inside out.”

  Shelby groaned and shook his head. “Light beer or not, I think it’s affecting you.”

  “Ssshh!” Fritz held a finger over his lips. “Don’t you know the fastest way to kill a buzz is to start talkin about it?”

  “Sorry. I won’t do it again.” Shelby leaned forward and looked at Fritz with as intense a gaze as he could manage. “I have one question, though.”

  “And that is?”

  Shelby paused for dramatic effect.

  “Where’s the shitter?”

  25

  Smith waited until well after dark before making his move. The time had crawled by, and he’d found the waiting almost unbearable. This too was different. He rarely minded the wait. In fact, he often enjoyed it, as it built the anticipation and made the result more satisfying.

  Carly’s street was empty and quiet. Smith didn’t bother turning his lights off as he approached the house. With the danger of Carly’s man friend nullified, he had little to fear. Besides, Carly was on the lookout for suspicious behavior, so anything too far out of the ordinary would tip her off. Not to mention she’d certainly secured the house against intruders.


  Smith pulled into her driveway as brazen as hell, got out, and walked up to the front door. He knocked and waited. There was a short wait, then he saw the front window curtains stir. He heard a deadbolt click, and she opened the door. She left the chain in place, but Smith could break through if he needed to.

  “Yes?”

  The sound of her voice surprised him. He had heard it before, at the Barn Door, and he’d overheard her conversation with the man—Shelby—but it seemed different now. Seductive. Welcoming. Was he imagining things? Was it possible she would accept him? The chain on the door said no, but perhaps she was being cautious. After all, she had been the victim of a break-in.

  “Hello,” Smith said once he’d found his voice. “Are you Carly?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Do you know a Shelby Alexander?”

  Carly stiffened, but Smith could tell it was more in alarm concerning the well-being of Shelby, which meant her guard was coming down regarding the stranger on her front steps.

  “Perhaps. What about him?”

  “He’s asking for you.”

  “I beg pardon? Who are you again? And how do you know Shelby?”

  “I don’t know Shelby, ma’am. Not well, at least. I work at the Pine Lake campground.”

  Smith saw Carly’s eyes widen a little. The mention of Pine Lake had increased his credibility.

  “Is Shelby okay?”

  “He’s been hurt, ma’am.”

  “Hurt?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Still at the campground, ma’am.”

  “Why the fuck is he there? Shouldn’t he be at the hospital?”

  “The ambulance is on its way, ma’am. They had some…delay.”

  “Delay? How can an ambulance have a fucking delay?”

  “I can’t answer that, ma’am. But he’s in bad shape and calling for you.”

  “Fuck fuck fuck.”

  Carly turned away from the door but left it ajar. Smith watched her scramble around the room, grabbing her cellphone and keys, and shoving her feet into sneakers. He wanted to crash through the door and grab her, but wasn’t sure he could do it fast enough. Not with the level of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

  Smith called through the opening. “Do you need a ride to the campground, ma’am?”

  “I’ll take my car.” Carly grabbed her coat, unhooked the chain, and burst out of the door with so much force Smith almost lost his balance. He regained his footing and reached into his coat for the knife. This wasn’t how he’d seen this going down, but he was adaptable.

  Headlights illuminated the front of the house as a vehicle rounded the corner in the street. Smith let go of the knife and withdrew his hand from his coat. The vehicle slowed as it pulled in front of the house, and Smith saw it was a sheriff’s car. It eased into the drive and came to a gentle halt. The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out. Smith recognized him as Sheriff Wilkes. There was a woman in the passenger seat, but she didn’t appear to be in uniform and made no move to exit the patrol car. Strange. Perhaps a ride along, some community relations program. The police were always doing that sort of shit, trying to pretend they had the citizens’ best interests at heart.

  “Evening,” Wilkes said, walking up the drive with the deliberate steps of a man approaching a trapped game animal.

  Carly was at her car and fumbling with her keys. “I don’t have time for this, Wilkes.”

  “It’s kind of late to be in such a hurry,” Wilkes said. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Apply for a transfer?”

  Wilkes laughed. “Let’s not be uncharitable. I’ve done nothing to you. And you may not believe me, but I do only want to help.”

  “Thanks, but I have to go. Would you mind moving your car? Both of you.”

  Wilkes seemed to notice Smith for the first time.

  “Ah, yes. Who’s your friend?”

  Smith saw the wheels turning in Carly’s head, trying to figure out how much to say and what excuses to make. She couldn’t tell Wilkes the truth, because Shelby was at Pine Lake to avoid the sheriff. Smith sensed an opportunity.

  “I’m her cousin,” he said, walking down from the steps and approaching Wilkes with an outstretched hand. “Recently in from Colorado. We were getting ready to head out for tacos. Carly tells me there’s a place in town open all night.”

  “Colorado?” Wilkes squinted at the back of Smith’s car. “You’re showing a Michigan plate.”

  “Oh, I’m borrowing the car from a friend. I flew in.”

  “I see. And you’re driving separately?”

  Carly unlocked her car door, leaned inside, and then reappeared, holding up a small cylinder. “I needed my lip gloss.” She smiled at Smith and walked to the passenger side of his car. “Shall we go? I’m starving!”

  “I’m famished as well.” Smith wanted to burst into wild laughter but kept himself under control with some effort. “You’ll need to move your car, Sheriff.”

  Wilkes hesitated, his brow furrowed and his eyes suspicious. Then he turned and walked back to his car. He got inside and sat there, waiting.

  “I think he’s waiting for us,” Smith said. “If we leave separately, he’ll be suspicious and perhaps follow us. I can drive you to the campground and you could ride in the ambulance with Mr. Alexander.”

  Carly nodded. Smith saw she was too eager to waste time arguing. Smith opened the driver’s door of his car and got in. Carly followed, with only slight hesitation. Smith struggled to remain calm. It was always gratifying when a plan came together, but a little help from Lady Luck made it all the sweeter. Most often, unanticipated events were for the worse. Although not superstitious, Smith couldn’t help feeling this confirmed the rightness of what he was doing. He’d thought Lara had been the one, his soulmate, only to have her ripped away. Perhaps he’d been wrong and Carly was the one, and Lara had been taken for a reason. Perhaps there was something to this whole ordered universe idea.

  Smith waited while Wilkes backed out of the driveway. Then he put the car in reverse and followed suit. He backed onto the road, shifted into drive, and pulled away.

  “You take the other way to Pine Lake,” Carly observed.

  “I want to make sure the sheriff doesn’t follow us. He seemed interested in what we were doing.”

  “About that, thanks for not ratting me out. And quick thinking on the cousin story.”

  “It was the least I could do.”

  “Shelby must have told you why he was at Pine Lake.”

  “He did, yes.”

  “I didn’t know Pine Lake had employees. Last I knew, Fritz was running the operation by himself.”

  “This is the first year I’ve been on. Just started, in fact.”

  “I suppose Fritz is getting older. I’m sure he’s tired of doing all the work himself. It gets busier around here every tourist season.”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “Does he still have that old car of his?”

  “Car?”

  “Yes, the European job from the 70s. The Renault.”

  “I, uh…yes. Yes, he does.”

  “Shelby’s been after him to sell, but he won’t part with it.” Carly let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. When I’m anxious, I start babbling.”

  “It’s no problem.” Smith was on shaky ground, so he changed the subject to something more general. “Mr. Alexander will be happy to see you, I’m sure.”

  Carly turned in her seat to look out the back window.

  “It doesn’t look like Wilkes is following us,” she said. “You can take the next turn toward Pine Lake. This way goes into town.”

  “No sense taking chances. I’ll go on a little farther to make sure he isn’t following us from a distance.”

  Carly checked their six once more. “There’s no one back there. I’d like to get to Pine Lake before the ambulance. What did you say the injury was?”

  “I’m n
ot sure exactly. But it didn’t look good.”

  Smith took the next turn in the road. He’d detected a change in Carly’s voice. It now held a note of doubt, subtle but present—she was suspicious.

  During his earlier drive when he had tailed Shelby, Smith had noticed a roadside park. It wasn’t much, a picnic table and enough space for two or three cars. It was probably a hiking trailhead and would be dark and deserted this time of night. And it was less than a mile from the campground.

  Carly seemed to suppress her suspicions once they headed toward Pine Lake, although she didn’t relax physically. She sat on the edge of the car seat, urging Smith to drive faster.

  “The last thing we want to do is get pulled over,” Smith said.

  “There won’t be a deputy out here tonight. And Wilkes is behind us somewhere.”

  Smith sped up a few miles per hour to keep her quiet, all the while keeping a close eye on the woods lining the road. He had learned that in this part of Michigan, it wasn’t if a driver would hit a deer, it was when. Things had been going well—too well; hitting a whitetail would more than balance the scale.

  Despite the beers, Shelby couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned on the bed. The cabin was comfortable enough; he’d slept in much more inhospitable quarters, especially the few times he’d gone deer hunting. Hunters seemed to relish the roughness of the accommodations. The ricketier the hunting shack, the better. The colder and the more snow that fell, the happier they got. This had been changing over the years with the increase of female hunters. They brought a level of common sense to the situation and put a damper on the rough bravado. Some of the men resented it, but Shelby welcomed the change. Hunting shouldn’t mean he had to freeze his ass every night and try to sleep in a cot alive with bedbugs.

  The thought of bedbugs made him itchy, but it wasn’t the cause of his insomnia. He worried about Carly and regretted his decision to leave her behind. He wasn’t sure what he could have done, since she had refused to join him. He couldn’t force her to leave her house. Shelby supposed he could have risked discovery by Wilkes, but if he’d been arrested, Carly would have been left alone. He wouldn’t be able to protect her from a jail cell.