He was about to continue when a commotion on the other side of the dam drew their attention.
“Here we go again,” Linnet said. Several vehicles had pulled into the public parking lot. One of the vehicles was a big old Lincoln Continental. “That’s the mayor,” she added.
Myna sat up straight to get a better look. Two pickup trucks parked behind the mayor. A couple of fishermen stepped out. Of course, the fishermen had been up before the sun and had seen the dead fish by the time Myna and her father had gotten to the dam. Fishing season wouldn’t officially start until the weekend, but the locals often dropped a line for a quick catch for dinner. Illegal, yes, but it was a part of life in Mountain Springs that no one minded. Leo was the next one to pull into the lot, driving a truck with several of his rental canoes strapped to the roof.
The men gathered on the public dock, pointing at the dam and talking. At one point, Leo raised his hand in their direction. Myna waved back.
“Put your hand down,” Linnet said to her. “You’re still in your pajamas, for goodness sake. And why are you both covered in mud?”
“We slipped on the bank when we were looking at the fish,” she said, leaving out the part about finding Pop on his back, up to his thighs in the water. She’d been embarrassed for him; how humiliated he must’ve felt needing her help to stand. He’d always been such a proud man.
“What were you telling us about winterkill?” Linnet asked him. They were doing their best to ignore the growing crowd across the way. “The fish,” she prompted. “And the oxygen in the water.”
When he didn’t respond, Myna motioned to the newspaper in Linnet’s hand. “Did you read the article?” she asked.
“You got lucky,” Linnet said. “It’s not so bad. But I wish they would’ve chosen a different photo.”
The image was of the picketers standing outside the diner holding up their signs. It wasn’t the picture Myna had wanted for the piece, but if people read the article underneath they would understand their father had refuted the end-of-the-world claims.
Pop suddenly continued as though he’d never been interrupted. “Winterkill occurs in shallow lakes where there is an abundance of vegetation. We had a lot of snow and ice this winter, and it prevented sunlight from getting through, forcing the plants to cut back on the oxygen they produce. Not to mention the amount of decaying plants, lowering the oxygen levels even more. And when the oxygen depletion is severe enough, the fish die.”
Linnet nodded. “The snow geese were supposed to take care of thinning out the vegetation.”
“Right.” Myna jumped in. “But it’s only been a few days without the geese. How could the plants have taken over so quickly?”
“The total number of geese that passed through this winter was down. We didn’t see the thousands of birds we typically see,” Linnet explained to Myna in a voice not unkind. But what Myna heard was something different, another way of pointing out her absence in their life here.
“When you combine the cold weather, the shallow water freezing over, the thick vegetation, and the decrease in the number of geese, it was enough to upset the balance of things.”
More people showed up across the dam. The picketers arrived one by one, jumping out of their tired-looking minibuses, waving their signs, shouting propaganda. The local news reporters piled out of vans. It was only a matter of time before the bigger news stations learned about another sign of the apocalypse. Within hours CNN would return, and their little town would make the national news for the second time in a week.
“I don’t suppose they’re going to listen to reason,” Linnet said about the crowd.
“No,” Pop said. “Probably not.”
Charlie’s police cruiser flashed its blue lights as it drove into the lot, forcing the doomsayers out of the way.
Linnet’s hand shot out and clutched Pop’s. “We have to go. Now,” she said.
Myna understood the urgency to get him out of Charlie’s sight. “Come on, Pop.”
They got up, Linnet in the lead, followed by their father in soggy, mud-caked pants, the dirt running all the way up the back of his shirt. Myna walked behind him in her own muddy pajamas, feeling Charlie’s eyes on them as they hurried down the path.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Linnet paused in the backyard. The sun’s rays warmed her chilled skin; the goose bumps that had traveled up and down her arms and legs from sitting underneath the shade of the trees by the water disappeared. Her father and Myna stood next to her. They looked up at the sky, where a flock of geese called for their attention, the cacophony of honking a welcoming sound.
“Hello, my friends,” Myna said with a childlike expression on her face. She looked so much like the old Myna, the little sister who had been attached to Linnet’s side. Linnet had an urge to throw an arm around her shoulder and pull her into an embrace for old time’s sake. But it was as though her arms had forgotten how to move. When was the last time they’d hugged? And not just the quick pat on the back, good-to-see-you kind of hug, but an affectionate, I love you, you’re-my-sister kind of hug. It had been too many years for her to remember.
“They won’t stop,” Pop said about the geese. “It might be some time until they do.” He continued walking toward the guesthouse.
Linnet’s focus drifted to Pop, the back of his pants and shirt covered in mud. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if the geese stayed away, what would happen to him if he’d done what Charlie had suspected. Her mind jumped to the conversation she’d had with Ian about Professor Coyle and an alleged affair. What if it was true, and it had something to do with what had happened to him? How could she find out for Pop’s sake?
“I’ll go make sure Pop has some clean clothes,” Myna said. “I’ll bring him up for breakfast in a few minutes.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.” She set off after him.
Myna rushed to catch up and tapped her on the arm. “I know you will,” she said. “But I’m only here for a few days. I don’t mind. Let me help.”
“Right,” Linnet said. “You’re only here for a few days.” The rest of the year our father is my responsibility, she thought. She was about to tell her sister this, but instead she said, “Fine.” She crumpled the newspaper in her fist and headed toward the main house, crushing Jake’s article and the interview. So he’d kept his word. Big deal. All it meant was that they’d dodged one bullet today. She wondered if Jake had any say on which photo they’d used. As much as she wanted to hang on to her anger toward him, she found herself hoping he hadn’t had anything to do with the picture at all.
Ian was putting his coffee cup in the sink when she stepped into the kitchen. The sight of his tie thrown over his shoulder was comforting, signifying their family routine was the same despite so many changes taking place around them.
“I found Pop at the dam with Myna,” she said, and put the paper on the counter. She’d hollered up to Ian earlier that she was going to get her father to bring him up for breakfast, and she’d be back before he’d left for work. “You’ll never guess what’s happened now.” She explained about the fish. Ian stared at her with an expression of disbelief and awe.
“That’s going to hurt a lot more businesses in the area,” he said.
“Including ours.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell Walter and Lyle?” he asked.
“No, I completely forgot.” Walter and Lyle had stayed at the B&B every weekend for the last ten years on opening day of fishing season. “I’m going to have to tell them what happened. I don’t see there’s any other way.”
“Do you think they’ll cancel?”
“I’m not sure there are any fish left for them to catch, so yeah, I think it’s a good possibility I’m going to lose my last two guests this weekend.” She feared hundreds of the fish were dead. “The town’s going to have to pay someone to clean them up.” Imagine what the place would smell like otherwis
e.
Hank bounded into the kitchen with his backpack. “Ready, Dad?”
Ian whispered in her ear, “I’ll tell him what happened to the fish in the car.”
She leaned into him, and he put his arm around her shoulder. “Hang in there,” he said.
“Daaad,” Hank said.
She pulled Hank’s lunch bag from the refrigerator and handed it to him.
“Text me,” was the last thing Ian said as he walked out the door. Hank had already raced ahead to the car.
Linnet was left alone in the kitchen. She picked up the phone.
* * *
“Mom!” Linnet called through the closed door. It had been five long days since her mother had left her bedroom. The smell of dirty sheets and unwashed skin seeped underneath the crack between the door and the hardwood floor. She stepped back, hesitant to knock. She was afraid of what she’d find if she forced the door open. She was afraid of what could happen if she didn’t.
All the doors in the B&B had locks, but every room had a spare key so guests couldn’t lock themselves out. Pop had set it up this way when he’d had the house reimagined. When he’d originally purchased the property, he’d had visions of filling the rooms with five or six children or more, his own personal flock, he’d teased. “So why was there only Myna and me?” a young Linnet had asked. He hadn’t answered, but she hadn’t needed him to. Just like she hadn’t needed to ask why he’d had a spare key made for the master bedroom, the bedroom he’d shared with her mother.
Myna leaned against the wall, insisting they try to coax her out. Myna was wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top. Her curls were matted to her head. Linnet wondered when her sister had last brushed her hair. In the weeks following that horrible night, she’d felt Myna slipping away from her. She was more troubled about what was happening between the two of them than she was about their mother. What she’d figured out, and Myna hadn’t, was that their mother had been long gone by then. She’d left them anyway.
“Mom!” She knocked hard. She’d do this for her sister. “If you don’t answer, you’re leaving me no choice but to force my way in.”
Myna’s eyes grew wide. Linnet showed her the spare key.
“Maybe we should get Pop,” Myna said.
“And tell him what?” Linnet asked. She refused to feel responsible for their mother’s sudden relapse. Their mother had brought it on herself by getting involved with that awful man.
Myna looked at her feet.
Linnet continued. “Pop’s busy. He has classes to teach. And don’t forget about the grant money he’s been working so hard to get. Someone’s got to take responsibility around here. I’ve already booked two rooms for the weekend.”
“You didn’t!” Myna pushed off the wall. “Mom is in no shape to entertain guests.”
“Who said she has to do anything?”
“Then who’s going to do it?” Myna asked.
Linnet could always tell which family member was weighing on Myna’s mind. Right now, the worried eyes and pouty lips said she was concerned for her sister. Linnet knocked harder. “Mom, can I come in?”
“Leave me alone. Would you, please?” she said from behind the closed door. “Just leave me be.”
“How do you expect to feed them?” Myna asked, ignoring their mother’s plea. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Don’t worry,” Linnet said. “I can handle it. How hard can it be to cook breakfast? And I know more about the geese and what there is to do around here, much more than Mom ever did.”
But Linnet had been wrong, disastrously so. The French toast had been runny, the coffee too strong. The linens and towels hadn’t been washed. The guests had complained, insisting on speaking with an adult. When her mother had appeared, the couple had gasped at the sight of her, driving her back inside the bedroom and deeper into despair.
Her mother had stayed locked inside the room for three more days until Pop had forced her out, carrying her in his arms, putting her in the tub and bathing her.
And all the while, Linnet had blamed herself.
* * *
Linnet spent the next ten minutes talking with Walter. He’d heard about the fish on the news. He had every intention of calling. They’d already made arrangements at another lake in the Poconos.
She hung up with Walter and was about to call the lawyer when there was a knock at the door. “It’s you,” she said to Charlie.
He removed his chief’s hat. He couldn’t meet her eyes. She knew straightaway it was more bad news.
“What now?” she asked, and stepped aside to let him in.
“I’m here for your dad.”
“I don’t understand.”
He put his hat on the counter. He’d stood in this kitchen so many times before in his uniform, in his regular clothes, as a friend. It was hard to think of him as the enemy. But that’s what he was, wasn’t he?
“The footprint,” he said. “It’s the same shoe size your dad wears.”
Her heart ricocheted inside her chest. She should’ve called the lawyer first, prioritized better. What was wrong with her? “Come on, Charlie. I told you before, Pop’s footprints are all over the yard.”
“Yes, and so are yours and Hank’s and Ian’s. But the three of you have alibis. And your prints weren’t found next to the body,” he said, and picked up his hat. “I’m going to have to take him in for questioning.”
“You know he couldn’t have had anything to do with that man’s death.” Should she tell Charlie about the professor’s alleged affair? Or was she just desperate to point the finger at anyone other than Pop? “What if someone else was in the yard, maybe someone you didn’t identify, someone who doesn’t live here?”
“We didn’t find any evidence of another party.” Charlie kept his expression neutral. She couldn’t read him. “Now, I assume he’s at the guesthouse?”
“Please,” she said. “Can’t it wait a few minutes? Let him eat breakfast first. I promise I’ll bring him to the station once he’s done.” She pictured Pop scared, childlike, lashing out. She didn’t want Charlie or any cop near him. Not without a lawyer present.
Charlie scratched his chin, where a considerable amount of stubble had accumulated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him any other way but clean-shaven.
“Okay,” he said, finally. “Under one condition. I want you to give me his shoes, the loafers he always wears.” He didn’t wait for her to answer and kept talking. “The guy’s family is really breathing down my neck. And I don’t have to tell you about all the news reporters sniffing around here lately. Hell, even the mayor is pushing for an arrest.”
“Don’t you need some kind of warrant to take someone’s personal property?”
“I have a warrant,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “And I can get an arrest warrant if I need it. Do I need it?”
She touched her neck, her throat. “Damn it, Charlie.”
“I know,” he said, and squeezed her arm, the first sign of compassion he’d shown since walking through her door. “It’s killing me, too.”
* * *
Linnet ran to the guesthouse and flung open the door. Myna was standing in the small living room next to the old armchair, a pile of muddy clothes in her arms.
“Where are Pop’s shoes?” she asked.
“By the door,” Myna said.
Linnet heard the shower running.
Myna continued. “I left clean clothes out on the bed for him. You didn’t have to come down here and check up on us.”
“I wish that’s what I was doing.” She picked up the mud-caked loafers.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Charlie’s up at the main house. He has another search warrant. Do me a favor and keep Pop here for another twenty minutes or so until I can get rid of him.” She turned to go. “And tell Pop I’m going to clean his shoes for him if he asks. He’ll have to wear something else for now.”
She hurried out the door to find Cha
rlie on the side of the main house near the driveway and his patrol car. His hat was on his head. He was standing erect, official looking.
She was about to shove the shoes into his hands, but he quickly opened a plastic bag and had her drop them in. “I’m calling a lawyer. You’re not questioning him without a lawyer present,” she said, and marched toward the house.
“Linnet,” he called after her.
She stopped and turned around.
“I just got word there’s a town meeting in thirty minutes. It’s about the dam and what to do about the fish. I figure all the local business owners will be there, including you.”
“What about Pop?” She couldn’t be in two places at once.
“Bring him around when you get back.” He got in his patrol car.
She had a feeling she’d made a terrible mistake by handing over the evidence he’d needed without ever seeing that warrant.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jake hopped in his car and headed for the mountain road, making a quick detour before driving to Easton. He rolled the windows down for some fresh air, the radio set to a rock-and-roll station playing Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long.” Under ordinary circumstances he might’ve sang along. But today he was on his way to the county coroner’s office to pick up a copy of the autopsy report on his father. They wouldn’t send him the information until Jake provided identification, proof he was next of kin.
He made his way on the windy road, the arched branches of trees overhead forming a dense green tunnel that blocked much of the sunlight. Shadows crossed the pavement, making odd shapes and forms. It wasn’t until he approached the sharp turn, first going left and then veering right, that he pressed the brake and slowed. The tires crackled on the gravel as the car rolled to a stop on the shoulder in the exact spot where he’d broken down, and where he’d sat on the trunk waiting for someone to find him. He couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like for his father, injured and all alone, wondering if help would come along. Was he conscious, waiting to be found? Or was he unconscious the entire time, never knowing the end was near?
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