In the House On Lakeside Drive

by Corie L. Calcutt

  Sam let out a sigh. “Yes. I just didn’t want him coming after Remy again.”

  A chuckle escaped thin lips. “I daresay the idiot will think twice about coming after you, that’s for sure.” Evan picked up one end of the flat screen, tapping the box to indicate that Sam should get the other. “Think you can help me get this up the stairs in one piece, or should I call Josh?”

  “I can get it to the porch. You might need Josh to make sure I don’t drop it.”

  Evan laughed. “Josh!”

  * * *

  “Three days,” Cooper whined as he left the cells of the Otter Lake police substation. “Left me to rot there three days, Travis.”

  “Wasn’t easy comin’ up with five hundred to bail you out, now was it?” his companion shot back, his grizzled face matching his current mood. “Don’t I even get a ‘thanks, asshole’ for springin’ your ass?”

  “Thanks, asshole.” Cooper was in no mood. The thought of his current station grated on him, and the fact that he was now in debt to one of the most underhanded drunks in a hundred miles didn’t help. Travis Mason was as ambitious as Cooper was, but at least he got a disability check in the mail each month due to a bad ticker. Cooper’s only meal ticket had run out and left him drifting in the wind, scraping by on the occasional handout or odd job not performed by that sanctimonious shit the brat lived with. “I do appreciate it.”

  “You better. You’re in the hole now near two grand, and time’s comin’ where you’ll need to settle up.”

  Cooper stared. “Two grand? Not likely.”

  “Last month’s rent on that place you call a house, plus bail and the occasional bottle of scotch. And by ‘occasional,’ I mean a bottle a week for the last year and three months. So, yeah, two grand. And mind you, we’ll come to collect.”

  The thought of Travis and his kin setting foot in Otter Lake to make good on that promise, knocking on his door to take what he owed out of him was enough to set the spiteful man on edge. The thought of the four Mason brothers tossing his house while Travis himself held the proceeds only served to make him more resentful of his only living relative. He racked his brain, forcibly sobered up due to his stay in lockup, when something occurred to him.

  “Hey, Travis,” Cooper said, “Ever been to Rick’s Tavern, just between here and North Kingston, near the highway?”

  “Once or twice. Why?”

  “Was in there a couple of weeks ago. Strangest thing, though: I think there was someone looking to pull some kind of job in there. A high-paying one.”

  The grizzled face turned, and beetle-black eyes peered out of a nest of long gray beard. “What kind of job?”

  “Lucrative. Three young fellows, eyeing up that bastard Dyer and his woman. Those kids too.”

  Travis snorted. “Sure, Cooper. Not like everyone doesn’t know you’re pissed about your nephew growin’ a pair and running from your place like a house on fire.”

  “Beside the point,” Cooper said, waving the comment off. “Sounded to me like one of them had an axe to grind with Dyer, although he didn’t use his name. Mentioned some guy named Liam or something.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is, we find those fellows, and we could cut ourselves in on it. Let them do the heavy lifting and collect the spoils once it’s done.” Privately, Cooper imagined what he might do with his own golden goose once he had hold of him, but he kept mum about it. To his knowledge, no one in Otter Lake aside from that meddling lawyer Vendell knew about the vast fortune that his nephew stood to inherit, and Cooper wanted to keep it that way.

  “Heard about the break-in. You think that was them?”

  “I know it wasn’t me, and the cops are looking to pin that on me as well as this ridiculous restraining order violation. I’m guessing it wasn’t one of your projects.”

  “Be guessin’ right. I don’t need that kind of shit. Got other things in mind.” The look on his fellow drunkard’s face gave Cooper some hope. “Lucrative, you say?”

  “Possibly. What do we know about those other kids living with Dyer and his dame?”

  “Not enough, I’m guessin’.”

  “Wouldn’t be hard to ask around. Public records and all.”

  “Might do to find these ‘entrepreneurs’ you were talkin’ about. I’d like to know more, if you follow me.” Travis’s face worked a slow smile as big as his ample girth.

  “Rick’s Tavern is looking better and better all the time. Of course, you’ll have to buy.”

  “For some possible business? I think I could spot you a scotch or two.”

  Chapter 16

  Snow fell in Otter Lake on Christmas Eve for the first time that season. Josh stared as big, fluffy flakes piled on top of each other in the yard, causing drifts to ripple up the driveway toward the lonely road above. Behind the house, the lake had frosted over, leaving only a large hole of water near the center free-flowing.

  “Too bad it’s Christmas Eve,” Remy said, standing behind the younger tenant. “Would have made for a nice snow day.”

  “But we get presents,” Josh said, barely containing his excitement. “And ham!”

  “I like turkey better.” Remy stirred his spoon in his dish of cereal, poking at the frosted corn flakes as though they were alive. He sighed. “Did you finish your shopping?”

  “Uh-huh. Got it wrapped too.” Josh turned from the window. “Did you?”

  “Yeah.” He gave up on the cereal and emptied it into the trash, putting the bowl in the sink.

  “Hey, that’s wasting food.” Josh pointed an accusing finger at Remy, daring him to deny the accusation.

  “I’m not hungry. And besides, you don’t eat cereal.”

  “Evan might’ve. Or, or Sam…”

  “Sam eats peanut butter toast with jelly on it. Every morning. Have you ever seen him eat different?”

  Josh thought about that. “Yeah,” he said finally. “When Miss Rachel makes eggs. He likes those.” His stomach growled, and Josh looked sheepish. “Me too.”

  Remy rubbed his chin. “Yeah, eggs sound good.” He reached underneath the counter to grab the old battered frying pan, one of the few articles that had escaped destruction or theft during the break-in. “Grab the egg carton, would you?”

  “You…you don’t know how to make eggs.”

  Remy sighed louder. “Yeah, I do. I’ve seen Miss Rachel do it lots of times. It’s not hard.”

  “But…”

  “You want eggs?”

  Josh looked at Remy, his eyes shining. “Yeah.”

  “Can you cook eggs?”

  “Well…no…”

  “Then I guess it’s gonna be me making them, isn’t it?” Remy got out the butter and eggs, and reached for a shallow soup plate. He cracked the whole dozen into the plate, and then poured milk into the eggs before beginning to beat them. The egg mixture spilled over the sides of the shallow plate, leaving puddles of yellow on the bar table and drops on the cracked linoleum floor.

  “We…we could wake up Miss Rachel…”

  “She and Evan were out late last night finishing their shopping. You really want to wake them up?”

  Josh thought about that a moment. “No,” he replied. “She’s usually cranky when she doesn’t sleep.”

  “Real cranky. Evan too. Plus, wouldn’t it be nice to surprise them for Christmas?”

  “Yeah, it would.”

  “There you go. Drop some butter in the frying pan, would you?”

  Small hands curled a spoon into the tub of margarine and pushed a dollop into the cool pan bottom. Remy let the margarine melt a little before pouring the eggs into the pan, turning the heat on medium. He stirred them, making sure they didn’t stick to the bottom of the gritty pan.

  “Hey, we should make bacon.” Josh began rummaging through the refrigerator, still trying to sort out the new drawers and shelves in the replacement appliance. After a few minutes, he turned to Remy, his face downcast. “There isn’t any.”

  “I bet the
re’s sausage in the freezer.”

  Josh tore through the freezer. “Found it!” he cried, grabbing a roll of pork sausage. “Hey, it’s not in the little links, like we have at my mom’s house.”

  “No. You have to cut it into slices, like when you make sugar cookies in the roll.”

  “Oh.” Josh looked at the rock-solid item in his hand. “This won’t cut. Too hard.”

  “So warm it up.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed an eight-by-eight pan and opened the oven, putting the sausage inside, plastic and all. He then turned the oven on four hundred degrees and closed the door. “This is nice,” he said, “all the new stuff.”

  “Could have done without someone trashing the place to get it, though.”

  “True.” Josh watched the sausage through the lighted window. Soon a smell began to waft through the kitchen, and it was one that was making the eighteen-year-old turn green.

  “What the hell is that smell?” Remy asked, nearly gagging.

  “The sausage,” Josh said, talking through a pinched nose. “It needed to warm up, remember?”

  Bright blue eyes widened in horror. “You put it in the oven?!”

  “Well, how else was I going to warm it up?”

  Remy grabbed the nearest towel and wrenched the oven open, grabbing the metal pan and nearly throwing it into the half-filled sink. The towel was a poor insulator, being made of synthetic material, and Remy was running his hand under cold water while trying to stop the towel from smoldering. “You idiot!”

  “I’m…I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know?”

  “Josh, don’t you ever pay attention when Miss Rachel cooks?”

  The younger tenant shrugged. “Kind of.”

  Obviously not when she’s making sausage, Remy thought bitterly. Just then the smoke alarm went off, blaring its warning for the whole house to hear. The sounds of feet tramping across the floorboards and stairs filled the air, and the sight of Evan scrambling for the towel remnants and throwing them outside while dressed only in his smiley-face boxers made Remy blush and Josh howl with laughter.

  “What in the hell are you two doing?” Evan shouted over the din.

  The room fell instantly silent as Sam held the remains of the smoke alarm in one hand and a barstool in the other. “Problem solved,” he said, resting the barstool back onto the floor. Then he wrinkled his nose. “What melted?”

  “The plastic coating on the sausage roll,” Remy said. “Josh put it in the oven to warm up.”

  “Josh, why would you do that?” Evan asked, silencing Josh’s laughter.

  “Well, it was frozen, and…and I needed to cut it up, so…”

  “Ever heard of a microwave, genius?” Sam muttered.

  “Well, the oven worked too, and…and I’m not used to that new microwave. Remember what happened when I made soup the other night?”

  Silence fell as the memory of Josh’s soup container exploding in the microwave flashed before their eyes. “Fair point,” Sam conceded.

  “Guys, why are you cooking breakfast in the first place?” The sound of Rachel’s voice sailed across the room, followed by a huge yawn. “You weren’t happy with toast?”

  “Well, eggs sounded good,” Remy said, pointing at his perfectly cooked pan of scrambled yolks. “Then Josh said bacon, and there wasn’t any…”

  “But there was sausage, but not the little link kind, only this log thing. In plastic. And frozen.” Josh looked as though he was about to cry. “I just wanted to help…”

  “Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?” Evan looked as his girlfriend, who had her hand plastered palm to forehead. The bemused smile on her face spoke volumes, as did the chuckles fighting to escape her throat.

  “I guess.”

  “Here,” Sam said. “Let me make the sausage.” He searched in the freezer, finding another roll of the breakfast meat. He then turned toward Josh. “Now, here’s how you defrost it in the microwave…” The pair then stood in front of the appliance, Sam explaining the process as Josh pressed the buttons. “See? Much easier, huh?”

  “Yeah! That wasn’t hard at all!”

  “Remy, might as well throw in some toast,” Rachel said, clearing the dirty dishes from the bar table. “Those eggs will keep.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Evan said, pulling the dining room table out from its place under the kitchen windowsill. “Let’s sit here. I’ll throw a tablecloth on it, and voila…Christmas breakfast.”

  “We’re still gonna have ham later?” Josh asked, worry coloring his face.

  “Yes, Josh. Ham later.”

  “Cool!” the young tenant said with a grin on his face. “Then presents, then…”

  “Off to your folks’ house,” Rachel reminded him. “Your mom’s coming to get you at five.”

  Josh looked out at the rapidly falling snow. “But look,” he argued. “Look at all the snow out there!”

  “This is Michigan, Josh. We have snow tires.”

  “But we might get snowed in!”

  “Your dad drives a plow truck. I think you’ll get home just fine.” A slow grin spread over Rachel’s face.

  “Aw, man…how come Sam doesn’t have to go home?”

  “My dad’s out of town on business,” Sam said, his face a little crestfallen. “And my brother and sister are stuck at work and school.”

  “Well,” Josh said. “Okay.”

  “And I don’t have anywhere else to be this Christmas,” Remy said, cutting Josh off at the pass.

  “Well, I didn’t think you’d go stay with your uncle. He’s a mean jerk.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Okay, okay,” Evan said. “Those eggs are getting cold.”

  “My eggs!” Remy raced for the pan. Soon the little group settled down to their impromptu breakfast, and the sounds of Remy and Josh arguing over dishes followed. “Nice to know they wanted to surprise us,” Rachel said as she, Evan, and Sam cleared out for the living room.

  “Would have been nicer if they hadn’t tried to burn the place down while they did it,” Evan said with a grin. “Still, could have been worse. At least they didn’t cut off a finger. Or a limb.”

  “I heard that!” Remy shouted from the kitchen.

  Chapter 17

  Dinner had been a grand affair. Josh ate his way through piles of ham, mashed potatoes, green beans and crescent rolls, and he looked longingly at the Dutch apple pie sitting next to the homemade pumpkin on the stove. “Is there whipped cream?” he asked.

  “In a minute, Josh,” Rachel clucked, feeling the food she’d cooked settle in her stomach. It was her tradition to have the kids cook dinner one night a week, but on holidays she would go all out and let them have a break. “Dishes only,” she’d told the three current tenants as she made course after course. The promised chore awaited, the sink full of crystal dishes and good silverware. She sipped a hot chocolate slowly, working up the motivation to get up from her chair. “The pie will wait.”

  “No, it won’t.” Josh looked crestfallen. “It might go stale.”

  Remy snorted as Sam tried in vain to stifle a chuckle. “The way you eat?” Remy said finally, a note of incredulity in his voice.

  “It might!”

  Even Evan had to laugh. “I promise, no pie of Rachel’s ever goes stale. Hasn’t yet, not since I been here.”

  The youngest tenant looked uncertain. “You promise?”

  “I promise. Besides, there are a lot of packages calling to be opened.” Evan’s pale eyes twinkled, a mischievous grin spreading over his thin face.

  “Oh, man, presents!” Josh leapt from his seat and raced for the living room, where the Christmas tree twinkled merrily in the late afternoon sun. The snow had stopped falling earlier, and the untouched drifts looked like white waves on dry land. “Hey, here’s one for Remy!” the young man cried, starting to make piles of the various boxes and containers in front of him. “One for Sam, one for Evan…hey, here’s one for me!”

  “Bette
r get in there, guys, before he starts opening them too,” Rachel said, watching her older tenants gradually rise from their seats and plod into the living room. A moment later, she followed them. Remy had taken a seat on the couch, Sam had taken the seat opposite Remy, and she herself fell into her own favorite tan overstuffed recliner. “So, how goes it, Josh?” she asked, causing the small young man to stop his sorting.

  “Not bad! There’s a lot of stuff here…”

  “Well, you going to admire the wrapping paper or open them?” Evan asked as he slid into his own comfortable chair, setting his feet on the matching ottoman. “I’d like to know what’s under all that wrapping.”

  Josh took it upon himself to start handing out presents, playing the part of Santa Claus. Once the parcels had been doled out, each looked a little sheepish, not wanting to be the first to tear into their packages.

  “Well, someone has to go first,” Evan said, picking up a small box from Sam. It was wrapped in white paper, with a gold-and-red ribbon tied around it. He carefully untied the knot and lifted the top. “A silver chain,” he said. “Too short to be a necklace…is it a bracelet?”

  “Kind of,” Sam said. “I got it engraved too.”

  Evan studied the piece. “A puzzle piece. I get it. Thanks, Sam.” He smiled.

  “You’re welcome.” Sam’s long, thin fingers ran over a large shirt box wrapped in glossy paper. He tore into it to find a new t-shirt that had the message, “If you can’t read this, learn Braille” on it. Sam felt the raised bumps in the t-shirt that spelled out the message in Braille across the chest. “Cool!” he said. “Thanks, Remy!”

  “I got one too. Yours is orange, mine is sky blue.” Remy smiled.

  “Well, people will certainly see you coming a mile off,” Rachel laughed. “But they are cool.”

  Remy pulled at bright blue wrapping paper to find a gift card to buy some new mp3 downloads. “I didn’t know which people you liked,” Josh explained. “Mom said that you’d like that instead of me guessing.”