Traverse Bound

by Jack Gibby

  After a few moments passed, the apartment door swung open and Jake appeared on the other side.

  “Logan!” Jake called as he stepped out. Then he saw Dunn and stopped, his already angry face going on the defensive. “Hey guy, get away from my kid.”

  “Jake!” Brooke blurted, right behind Jake in the doorway.

  “Ah,” Dunn said, putting up his hands. “I’m just here to see Brooke.”

  “Logan, stand up,” said Jake. “You’re coming with me. Stop talking to this stranger.”

  “He’s not a stranger,” said Logan. “He’s mom’s boyfriend.”

  Jake’s eyes widened and he looked at Dunn.

  “Jake, don’t worry about him,” Brooke said, trying to break into the conversation. “This isn’t about him.”

  “Logan, go inside and get your backpack,” said Jake. Logan stood up and followed the instructions, squeezing between his parents to return inside to the apartment to collect his things. “Jake Green,” he continued, still giving Dunn the stink eye. He thrusted his hand out.

  “Gannon Dunn,” said Dunn, shaking Jake’s hand. When Jake heard the name, his expression changed.

  “Did you say Gannon Dunn?” Jake asked in surprise.

  “That’s right.”

  Jake smiled. His demeanor flipped. His edges softened.

  “Well, it’s good to meet you,” said Jake.

  “Jake, just back off,” said Brooke. “Stay out of my personal life.”

  “Yeah, no worries,” said Jake. “I will. I’m cool. Gannon Dunn, huh? That’s some name.”

  “I get that a lot,” said Dunn.

  “I imagine,” said Jake. Logan appeared once more, this time with a backpack on. Jake smiled at him and tussled his hair. “You ready, pal?”

  “Yeah,” said Logan.

  “We’ll continue this another time,” Jake said to Brooke. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Good meeting you, Gannon.”

  “Yeah,” said Dunn. “Likewise.”

  “Come on, Logan,” said Jake. He pushed Logan on by the shoulder. “You two have a great night.”

  Dunn and Brooke watched in silence as Jake and Logan left. Once they began their descent down the stairs and disappeared, Dunn turned to Brooke and shrugged.

  “Just get in here,” said Brooke with an exasperated tone.

  Dunn sat on Brooke’s couch, looking around her small apartment. It felt very cozy and casual. There were plants all throughout, some near the big window that looked out onto the parking lot, some hanging, one on the coffee table. And it was obvious a kid lived there. A video game system, very messily stored, was pushed underneath the television.

  Brooke sashayed toward Dunn from the attached kitchen and handed him a glass of wine with a smile. Holding her own glass aloft, she sat down next to him on the couch and sighed.

  “I’m sorry about all that,” she said. “Jake was late in picking up Logan, we had some other issues to talk about, and it just took longer than I thought it would. I wasn’t really prepared for you to meet Logan—or Jake, for that matter—quite yet. So… sorry.” She offered another tired smile.

  “No, it’s fine,” said Dunn. “Logan seems like a nice kid.”

  “He puts up with a lot,” Brooke admitted. “He’s a trooper.”

  “I thought your ex was going to punch me for a minute,” Dunn teased, taking a drink. Brooke laughed.

  “You really caught him off guard,” said Brooke. She paused. “Did Logan say that you were my boyfriend?”

  “He inferred that from some things I said to him,” said Dunn.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “He asked if I was your boyfriend,” said Dunn. “And I didn’t negate that assertion.” Brooke’s smile changed from tired to pleased, that smile growing into a much happier grin.

  “I see,” said Brooke. She clinked her glass against Dunn’s and then she drank. Dunn followed suit.

  “So is this a regular occurrence?” Dunn asked with some sensitivity. “You and Jake fighting? Is this something I need to get used to?”

  “It’s not a complete clusterfuck or anything,” Brooke said, trying to assuage Dunn’s perceptions. “Nobody’s throwing anything, nobody’s getting hurt. We try to keep Logan out of it. But it really does all center around him, around custody and visitation and all that. Officially, Jake gets about a week a month, which is split up over the course of two weekends. But unofficially, we’ve worked things out so that he gets to spend more time with Logan. It’s just… our schedules don’t always align and maintaining this unofficial schedule can be a sore spot.”

  “I see,” Dunn said, nodding along with Brooke’s story. The whole idea was foreign to him. But he could understand the difficulty it presented.

  “I want Logan to spend time with his dad,” said Brooke. “Really, I do. The original custody agreement, my lawyer pushed for it, I was sort of swept up emotionally in all this shit during the divorce.” Brooke paused and took a breath. She didn’t want to relive the experiences she was talking about. “Objectively, Jake’s an all right guy and a good dad and I have to keep reminding myself of that. That’s all.”

  “I believe you,” said Dunn. He smiled. Brooke grinned again and she smacked his shoulder.

  “You’re something, Gannon,” said Brooke. “Really, I mean that. You’re something else.”

  “I tell you, this was not the kind of situation I imagined myself getting into when moving up here,” said Dunn.

  “Is it getting a little too hot for you?” asked Brooke in a teasing tone. “Can’t handle the drama of being with a single mother? You want to just go live some cushy life of leisure?” Brooke closed in on him, pushing up against his arm, and she took a drink from her glass. She was still grinning and there was a flame in her blue eyes.

  “You’re lucky,” said Dunn. “That you’re so gorgeous, and fun, and easy-going, and smart. If you weren’t those things,” said Dunn, keeping a straight face as he shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

  Brooke laughed. Then her face grew a little more serious.

  “Gannon?”

  “Yeah?”

  Leaning closer still to him, Brooke pushed her lips to Gannon’s and they slowly kissed, each of them still holding their wine glass up. It went on for a few moments before Brooke pulled back, her face lit up with excitement and joy.

  “I’m going to finish getting ready,” said Brooke. She delicately placed her wine glass down on the coffee table. “Then we’re going to go out and have a nice meal like we planned. And then, I want to drink a little more wine at your house and I want to go upstairs and I want you to just screw me silly,” she said. “I need it, Gannon. I want to forget about the drama in my life and I want to feel good. You think you can do that for me?”

  “Is that a challenge?” Dunn said.

  “You bet your ass it is,” said Brooke. She laughed and stood up. Dunn looked up to her with an easy smile. “You just wait here. I won’t be long.”

  “Can do,” said Dunn. Brooke kissed her fingers and then held them out to Dunn. Then she walked off from the couch, disappearing down the hallway.

  Dunn took another drink of wine and laughed once to himself. His life was nowhere near as easy-going and fancy-free as he had imagined it would be when he closed on his house. But this excitement, it was proving to be rather interesting. It was nothing like the old life he had abandoned. And he was happy for that. This was a new Gannon Dunn, and he was enjoying the ride.

  Missy was alone in her bedroom. The lights were low, but her face was illuminated by the glare of her laptop screen. She sat at her desk and went over the recordings that Dunn had given to her. There were multiple angles of the shooting, and she had watched them dozens of times already. Not only did she have a few clear images of the shooter, but she also had a decent picture of the victim. Missy took screenshots of these pictures and saved them to her desktop.

  She remembered that Dunn had told her that the victim was a lawyer a
nd had worked with some of the wineries in the area. According to an article Missy found online, his name was John Barnaby. He had graduated from Michigan State with his law degree in 2000, and moved up to Traverse City soon after to practice. He was only in his early fifties when he was killed.

  “John Barnaby,” Missy said in a low voice. The more she said the name, the more it sounded familiar.

  The article went on to say that Barnaby had helped a few of the younger wineries in the area buy land. It said he had a wife, and two kids. It said that he wasn’t the kind of guy with whom any one would have conflict. It said he was loved and would be missed.

  It made Missy angry to read all that. And it stoked the flame inside of her to figure out the murder to avenge this guy’s death. She had no connection with him, as far as she knew, apart from being present at his murder. But that was all Missy needed to follow whatever breadcrumbs she could find.

  And she was still pissed at Dunn. Missy thought the two of them had become partners. She thought Dunn felt the same way that she did. But he was retreating. Retreating into his retirement—retirement at his age, what a joke—and his girlfriend and whatever other leisure activities he had planned. True, they had been threatened, they had been stalked, and the heat was rising. But Missy couldn’t be intimidated. She wanted this guy behind bars more than she’d wanted anything in a long time.

  She stopped. Relaxing into her desk chair and slumping down, Missy sighed as the thoughts washed over her. Yes, she was angry. Was it rational? She had been present at a crime scene, she’d been shot at herself, she’d been followed, and she’d been threatened by some tough guy outside of the shooting range. Was she letting her emotions take over her rational mind? Maybe she was acting out of line. Her life had been flipped around since the murder. She left her job, she started working for her father, and she’d been hanging around with some transplant early-retiree who she hardly knew.

  In that moment, Missy felt very foolish.

  Missy slammed her laptop shut and pushed up from her desk. The moon was full that night, and it shone in brightly through her large bedroom window. She walked over to the window and she looked outside. In the distance, she could make out the vineyards at her family’s winery. She knew that much of the land she could see belonged her family, and it had for some time. Missy felt proud, but at the same time it all felt unearned to her. She wanted to do something on her own. She wanted to make her mark.

  Gradually slinking back over to her desk, Missy picked up her phone and she tapped into it a few times. She crossed an arm over her stomach, as she held the phone to her ear with her opposite hand. The phone rang, and it rang some more. After six or so rings, the voicemail message picked up and Missy sighed. She considered just hanging up, but she quickly found herself at the beep.

  “Dunn,” she said into the phone. “First, look. I’m sorry about the other day and how angry and impetuous I was. I can get like that. I know we only just met recently, but you should know that about me. I can have a short fuse. But the point is, I’m sorry I stormed out and I know you were just trying to protect me. Protect us. I know that this is a potentially dangerous situation, and it’s not what you signed up for.

  “At the same time, this guy deserves justice. John Barnaby was his name. The victim. And in the weeks that have gone by since the shooting, it feels like it’s all just been swept under the rug. Nobody’s talking about it. Nobody cares. But I care. I was there, and I care. And I really want you to care, too. God—I wish you would have answered, I wish I could just be saying this to you right now instead of to your voicemail. But whatever. Dunn, we’re so close. We’ve got a lot of information already and I think we can find this guy. We won’t get in any trouble. We’ll find out who he is, and we’ll figure out how to deliver that information to the authorities. We’ll keep our hands clean.

  “Dunn, I don’t know how much time I have left on your voicemail, but I want your help on this. We’re partners here. I need your help on it, okay? We’ll be safe. We won’t get into any danger. Please, just call me back if you want to join forces again. Call tonight—no, you don’t have to do that. But tomorrow. Please, okay? Please?

  “Goodnight, Dunn. Call me.”

  Missy hung up the phone and she sighed long and loud. She felt foolish once again. What a stupid message to leave someone she barely knew. Dunn would probably think she was just being an idiot. And maybe she was.

  Collapsing down onto her bed, still cradling her phone in case it started to ring, Missy felt a few tears stream down her cheeks. It felt good to cry. It was cathartic.

  Chapter Six

  The sun was high and a beautiful collection of clouds floated in the sky above Grand Traverse Bay. Missy leaned against a railing in Clinch Park, looking out into the water. A breeze blew through a few strands of her dark hair, a pair of sunglasses covered her eyes. She scanned the terrain, looking over the busy beach off to one side. It was midsummer, and it was packed with people. Missy smiled to herself, wishing she could join them. Laying out might be a nice rejuvenator. But she had too much on her mind.

  Missy saw a sailboat steering through the bay, a boat she recognized. She missed sailing, she missed working at the school and the marina. Things had been all right for her for a while, but they had definitely changed. She longed to get that all back. It was one of her goals.

  It was a warm day, and Missy was dressed in her typical fashion—shorts and a polo, boat shoes without socks on her feet—and the sun felt nice on her body. Yanking her phone from her back pocket, Missy checked the time. She gave a soft frown, and then returned her phone from where she got it.

  But she didn’t have to wait much longer until Dunn shuffled up. He wore colorful madras shorts, a loosely fitting t-shirt, and flip-flops. He had sunglasses on as well, and a woven straw fedora atop his head. When Missy saw him, the smile on her face grew.

  “Dunn,” she said, stepping forward immediately to hug him as he approached. “You came.”

  “I said I would,” replied Dunn, hugging her tightly back. Their friendship had been brief, but he felt close to her. Dunn liked Missy. She was a good one.

  “I guess I was just anxious,” Missy said, stepping back, still smiling at him. “That’s all.”

  “It’s okay,” said Dunn.

  “And I’m sorry for that message,” Missy continued. “Oh God, if I could go back in time and not be such a blathering mess…”

  “It’s fine, Missy,” he said, lifting a palm. “Really. It’s fine.”

  “Good,” she said, beginning to feel resolved. “Thank you.”

  “So I’m here,” said Dunn. “Why don’t you tell me where we’re at?”

  “What?” said Missy. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean with the case,” he said. “You’ve done some more digging, obviously, found some clues. Where are we at?”

  “You’re back in?” Missy said, a wry grin moving over her.

  “Yeah,” said Dunn. “Let’s figure it out and get this guy some justice.”

  “You’re kidding me!” beamed Missy. “Oh, that makes me so happy to have you back. It’s like, we had only just started and you backed out and—”

  “Okay, okay,” said Dunn with a laugh. “I know, I know. I thought about it for a while after listening to your message, and I think you’re right. I feel the same way you do. So let’s find out who this guy is and get the cops on him.”

  “We’re like real detectives,” Missy said, grinning wide. “Aren’t we?” Dunn laughed again.

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I don’t think we’re detectives. I think we’re two very stupid masochists who have too much time on our hands.” Missy chuckled and shook her head.

  “No way,” she countered. “We’re going to be just fine.”

  “We’ll see,” said Dunn. “So, all right, tell me what’s new.”

  “Okay,” said Missy, straightening up. “This guy who was murdered, his name was John Barnaby. He was a real estate
lawyer who had recently brokered a deal for a major winery on Old Mission. Chateau W. Laurent is a major winery around here, with a substantial vineyard. They bought out a much smaller vineyard and consolidated that winery into their own. Barnaby did that deal.”

  “All right,” Dunn said, nodding along.

  “This guy, William Laurent—the owner of Chateau W. Laurent, naturally—he’s a big player. Honestly, he’s a lot like my father. I’ve seen him around, I met him when I was a lot younger. He and my father, they don’t get along very well.”

  “They’re probably both after the same thing, huh?” supposed Dunn.

  “Yeah,” said Missy. “A larger share of the pie.”

  “You think your father was pissed about this deal?” Dunn said, lifting a brow.

  “Are you insinuating something, Dunn?”

  “I might be,” he said. “You think your father may have been angered about this deal, and at this Barnaby guy, and had him killed?” Missy looked offended.

  “You’re accusing my family of being involved with this?” Missy said.

  “Step off the ledge,” said Dunn. “We don’t know who did it. But your family are big players in this town. It could be anybody.”

  “It’s not him,” Missy barked, crossing her arms.

  “Okay, so who is it?” Dunn asked. “This Laurent guy, Barnaby helped him. So that’s probably out.”

  “Or maybe not,” said Missy. “Maybe Barnaby knew something that Laurent didn’t want to get out. Something about this deal. And once everything was inked, Barnaby was whacked.”

  “Whacked,” repeated Dunn with a curt laugh. “I thought you said it wasn’t like the mafia around here.”

  “It was just the first word that came to mind,” Missy retorted, giving Dunn a smack on the bicep. Dunn laughed once more and rubbed his arm.

  “Okay, is there anything else?” Dunn said. “Any other new things that have come to light?”

  “Well, I’ve got this connection now,” said Missy, regaining her composure. “At my family’s winery. My job there is to help orchestrate some kind of union among wineries in the area, some plan to really grow business and distribution. They’re trying to put Traverse City on the map, like wine country in California.”