Black Otter Bay

by Vincent Wyckoff

  Matt slowly twirled his coffee cup and shrugged. He looked at Anna, but she was busy with the dishwasher again. “She’s a young girl, Sheriff. She’s at that age where she needs a mother’s counsel. I’m hoping Marcy will either make that happen, or help her out herself if she can.”

  Fastwater contemplated the nicked-up countertop in front of him. He raised his coffee cup, then set it down again. “How long will they be gone?”

  “Just through the weekend, I imagine. It is a little odd, I guess, the way Abby suddenly decided to go for a few days. But Jackie has really been bugging her for a visit, especially since all this happened with Ben. And Marcy told me she needed a break from the café, so it all just sort of worked out.”

  Fastwater didn’t like the sound of any of it. “Is Marcy staying with them?”

  “No. I’m sure she’ll be seeing them, but she booked a room in Canal Park. It’s like Anna said, she wants to try her luck at the casino.”

  “When did they go?”

  The sheriff’s excessive questioning finally attracted Leonard’s attention. He studied his uncle, saw the tension in the clenched line of his jaw.

  Matthew said, “They just left this morning. Abby decided to go after seeing Jackie last weekend at Rose’s memorial service. She went to school the last couple of days to make sure all her work was done for the year. But she’s a good student, Sheriff. They let her go, no problem.”

  Fastwater dug some change out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. Leonard could see the wheels turning and understood that they were leaving even before his uncle stood up. Gulping the last of his coffee, Leonard twirled on the stool to face his friend. “We’ll be seeing you, Matt. Your house is going to be kind of quiet for a few days. Let me know if you want some company.”

  “Thanks, Leonard, but I’ll be fine. Abby promised to call every night.”

  Sheriff Fastwater paused to listen to their exchange, and then patted Matt on the shoulder before heading for the door. “Thanks for the coffee, Anna,” he called, flashing her a thumbs up. “You still got it.”

  Once outside, he strode to the back door of the squad car to let Gitch out. He followed the big mixed-breed husky around the rear fender and leaned against the trunk to gaze off across the highway at the rolling expanse of Lake Superior. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for his nephew to join him. Gitch sniffed around the gravel parking lot, then stopped to point his nose into the crisp, fresh breeze. Everything was fine in Gitch’s world, but the sheriff didn’t see it that way.

  As Leonard approached, Fastwater turned to him, saying, “I need you to go back to Duluth. To keep an eye on Abby.”

  “She’s with her mother, Marlon. What harm can there be?”

  The sheriff’s pragmatic outlook and indomitable size had created his reputation for calm self-assurance, so Leonard took notice when a scowl appeared on the big lawman’s face. He followed his uncle’s gaze out over the lake and took a moment to consider his orders. The sheriff wasn’t the type to overreact. Either he had some information that he wasn’t sharing, or that extra sense of his was warning him about Abby’s welfare in the city. The one thing Leonard knew for sure was that he’d never get anything out of his uncle that the sheriff didn’t want to share.

  “What am I supposed to be looking for?” he asked.

  “Just keep an eye out. Try to not be obvious. See who visits them. Maybe look for something out of the ordinary at the art gallery.”

  “You mean you want me to spy on them.”

  “Damn it, Leonard,” Fastwater snapped. “Either someone in this investigation is lying, or there’s a cover-up going on. Probably both. I need an extra pair of eyes and ears in Duluth.”

  “Why not the FBI? That’s what they do.”

  When Fastwater didn’t respond, when he didn’t even break off his viewing of the majestic scenery before them, Leonard figured he knew the answer. His uncle preferred to handle local incidents on his own. He didn’t like outsiders getting involved in the townsfolk’s personal business. The sheriff considered it meddling, and so far as he could, he’d keep the investigation quiet and within the confines of the community. For Sheriff Marlon Fastwater, it was simply a matter of respect.

  “There must be someone down there who can keep an eye on them,” Leonard said.

  “Well, the feds assigned an agent,” Fastwater said, “but he’s working the business end of this thing. And he’s undercover, so let’s keep it between you and me.”

  “Undercover?”

  “That’s what they tell me. They found someone who knows the area and people. But his focus is Randall’s business dealings and associates. It’s a federal investigation, but it might tie into Ben’s disappearance.”

  “So you still think he was kidnapped, and it’s tied to Rose’s death?”

  “Absolutely. And Abby knows something. Depending on how much she knows, she could be in danger.”

  “What about the autopsy?”

  Fastwater looked at his nephew and allowed himself a short sigh, perhaps hinting at an inner disappointment. His eyes followed Gitch around the parking lot while he collected his thoughts. Leonard stood at ease with his hands in his pockets. The sheriff said, “Nothing of value showed up in the initial bloodwork.” He dug his toe into the soft gravel and emitted the briefest chuckle. “At least now we know that Rose wasn’t a drug addict, and she didn’t overdose on her medications.” He fixed his gaze on Leonard again. “Rose died because her heart gave out, even though there’s no sign of coronary disease. It seems like there has to be something there, like we’re missing something. Rose was a tough old gal, she doesn’t just drop over like that. Anyway, I know this guy in the lab down in Duluth. He’s going to do another work-up for me, a chemical analysis of the blood. But it’s going to take a while, so in the meantime we need to keep Abby safe.”

  “I don’t know, Marlon. It seems kind of weird. I’ve never even been on a stakeout before.”

  Fastwater called Gitch back from the edge of the road. The big dog looked at him, then slowly sauntered across the parking lot in a wide arc, as if returning to the squad car was his own idea. The sheriff walked around to the back door and held it open. To Leonard, he said, “I’d go down there myself to look around, but my presence would really make them suspicious. Just don’t make a big deal out of it. You’re hanging out in Duluth for a few days, that’s all. Randall’s apartment is in the East End, and the casino and Canal Park are both within walking distance. There’s a coffee shop just down from the art gallery.”

  Gitch jumped into the squad car and Fastwater closed the door. “Make a note of traffic in and out of the gallery. There’s no way that little place clears enough to cover the high-priced real estate it sits on.”

  Leonard stood rock solid in the parking lot, but his expression betrayed his confusion and dismay. “I don’t know, Marlon. I think this is a little beyond a part-time cop.”

  The sheriff put his hands in his pockets and walked back to the rear of the car. He gave a look up and down the roadway, then turned his attention back out to sea. From a distance, the movement of the waves appeared in slow motion, a phenomenon that always had a calming effect on him. So he took a moment now to suck it all in, then, drawing a deep breath, he slowly began. “You know, other than Jackie, I’ve known everyone involved in this case their entire lives. That fact alone gives me a little insight. For instance, Randall is withholding information, but then, he’s always been that way. He’s a loner, and it’s not in his nature to share anything more than he has to. That doesn’t mean he’s guilty of anything, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t, either.”

  Leonard started to speak, but Fastwater held up a hand to stop him. “Now Jackie, on the other hand, is a different matter. She’s not from around here, so she’s harder to read.” He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, “Know what I mean?” Then he continued. “I agree with you that she’s Abby’s mother and that alone should be enough, but something tells me she’s
not the safe harbor Abby needs right now.”

  It wasn’t in Fastwater’s nature to carry on such long conversations, and now he paused for a moment to watch the roll of white-capped breakers coming ashore. Leonard could feel his uncle’s discomfort. When the sheriff spoke again, his voice was hardly more than a whisper, and his open expression seemed to plead with his nephew to go along with him on this. “Up to now,” he said, “I haven’t been able to bring Ben home, and I’m stumped as to how all this went down, but I’ll tell you what I think. I’m convinced the kid isn’t just lost in the woods, that his disappearance is somehow tied to Rose’s death, and we aren’t going to find the answers here in town to put it all together.” He drew himself up straighter and looked at Leonard with a wry grin. “You saw how the feds pulled out of here all of a sudden? Now they tell me they have someone working it from the inside in Duluth. So it seems to me they probably have an idea what happened but they’re handling it themselves, which tells me it’s some kind of a big deal. Now, I can’t just leave here to go snooping around Duluth for answers, but you can.”

  Leonard toed the gravel and nodded. “Okay, Marlon. I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” Fastwater said. “It’s only a few days. They know you live down there, so it won’t raise any suspicions if you’re spotted, or if you decide to drop in on them.” He laughed. “If I suddenly showed up, Randall and his buddies would scatter like cockroaches in the light.”

  Leonard cracked a smile and looked down at his boots. “I’ll call you, what, every evening?”

  “Call whenever you want, several times a day. You have my cell. I want to know everything you hear and see.” He allowed his expression to soften again as he concluded, “I’m sorry to be so circumspect. You know I prefer going straight after something, but I don’t even know what we’re looking for. Until something breaks loose, we have to keep an eye on everything.” He frowned self-consciously. “You know about Jackie’s gambling thing, right? We don’t need people digging around in that and embarrassing the whole family. Remember, you’re there primarily to keep Abby safe.”

  Leonard nodded. “Okay, Marlon. I’ll do what I can.” He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “What about Mom?”

  “Arlene?” Fastwater laughed. “Now there’s an idea. Right now, though, we need to be discrete. When the time comes to barge in head-on, believe me, we’ll call in your mother.” He slapped Leonard on the back and started around the car to the driver’s side. “I still have a few things to look into around here, but I’ll be waiting for your call. Thanks for doing this, and good luck.”

  “Sure,” his nephew said, even though Fastwater had already climbed in the car. He watched him pull away, disappointed that his uncle had misunderstood his question. He’d meant to ask how he was supposed to reconcile the time off over the next few days with his mother. Arlene was too observant not to notice he wasn’t going to work, and too nosy not ask about it.

  Leonard stood in the middle of the nearly vacant parking lot. This was the first assignment of real significance his uncle had entrusted to him, and now, like the sheriff himself often did, he stared out over the wide vista of Lake Superior. Ultimately, he conceded that dealing with Arlene’s questions would be a minor inconvenience compared to the task his uncle had placed before him. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet, cedar-clad aroma of the forest around him. Then, turning to his old pickup truck, he shook his head and scuffed at the gravel beneath his boots before opening the door to make the fifty-mile drive back to Duluth and home.

  TWELVE

  Jackie Simon

  The fast-moving cloud formations reminded Abby of a time-lapse sequence on a PBS program. Rolling in off the lake, thick white cumulus clouds billowed and tumbled over each other coming ashore. The lake itself wore a regal cloak of indigo blue, with a strip of royal purple trim farther out. On the eastern horizon, where the sun was shining, the water reflected a brilliant aquamarine, almost inviting in its cheerful transparency, but deadly in the darker recesses of its ice-cold depths.

  “I have yet to encounter an artist capable of capturing all those colors,” Jackie commented, following Abby’s gaze.

  The light breeze off the lake still wielded a wintry bite, so Abby’s hands were fisted up inside the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt. “No,” she agreed. “But then, it doesn’t even look real, does it? It reminds me of the artwork in one of Ben’s comic books.”

  With that, Jackie turned around to look up the steep hill facing the lake. In the foreground rose the narrow stretch of Duluth’s downtown buildings, with Superior Street and London Road following the shoreline here at the headwaters of Lake Superior. From their vantage point on the lakewalk, Jackie could see homes and condos and parks climbing the ridge all the way to the top, where Skyline Parkway wound along the crest. Duluth’s existence had always seemed fragile and temporary to her, perched as it was so precariously at the base and, to a lesser extent, along the face of the ridge. True, there was much more to Duluth on the other side of the slope, including an international airport, but from here a person could almost envision the huge lake rising up one day to swallow these puny manmade edifices.

  Jackie looked back at Abby, who still stared out on the great inland sea. This was the biggest difference, she thought, between her hometown of Chicago and her adopted residence here in Duluth. Chicago was so large and cosmopolitan that it dwarfed the warm, calm waters of Lake Michigan, humbling it into a friendly park and poolside-like attraction. And the city was old enough that it had already burned down once before Duluth had really even gotten started. But looking out at Lake Superior, with its vibrant colors, bottomless depths, and temperamental reputation, it was easy to see who the real master was at this end of the Great Lakes.

  Jackie stepped up behind Abby to cup her hands over her daughter’s shoulders. Then she deftly fingered the girl’s braid, holding it up to feel its thickness and weight. “You have such beautiful hair,” she commented. “Why don’t you ever wear it long and unbound?”

  “It just gets in the way when I’m doing stuff.”

  Jackie grinned to herself. “Well, I bet the day is coming soon . . .”

  Abby turned around and smiled at her mother. “Remember when you used to brush it out for me?”

  Jackie burst out laughing. “Of course. You hated it. You screamed and yelled the whole time.”

  Abby grinned self-consciously. “I remember. But I’m not a kid anymore. Maybe you could brush it out for me later.”

  “I’d love to.”

  Then they took a few more moments to study the vivid colors splashing across the water. Jackie embraced her daughter from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. Abby said, “You know, I don’t think anyone would buy a painting from an artist using those colors. I mean, it doesn’t look real, does it? People would think the painter was hallucinating.”

  Jackie stepped back, laughing again. “That’s a great observation, Abby. And you’re probably right. Maybe you have a career as an art critic.”

  They continued their walk, Jackie’s arm around her daughter’s shoulders, following the lakewalk through re-emerging flowerbeds and gardens. When Abby had suddenly appeared that morning in The Tempest, Randall had volunteered to watch the shop while Jackie and her daughter went out for a bite to eat. Abby said, “Somehow I have a hard time picturing Randall working in the art gallery.”

  “Actually, he does pretty well with customers. Randall is no slouch. The man knows enough about art to talk a good game. Besides, he wants to catch up on paperwork this afternoon, so it worked out fine.”

  “Well, he has his work cut out for him. Your office was mess. It looked like a windstorm had blown through or something.”

  Jackie hesitated before replying. The fight with Randall flashed through her thoughts, the way she’d swept stacks of papers and shelving to the floor. She said, “Well, we’re changing some files around and doing some reorganizing. You just caught us at a bad moment.”

&nb
sp; “Are you sure it’s okay for me to hang around for a few days?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. I’d love it.”

  “What about Randall?”

  “He’s thrilled that you’re here. Believe me, Randall is quite fond of you. In fact, he’s going to offer you a part-time job working with me in the gallery.”

  Abby stopped her mother by grabbing at her arm. “I’m only here for a few days, Mom. Seriously. Marcy is picking me up this weekend.”

  “And then what are you going to do? Spend the summer sitting around that dead-end town while your father works all day?”

  “I’m going to find Ben.”

  Abby watched the rosy glow from their walk disappear from Jackie’s face. Clearly upset, her mother’s eyes shifted left and right before she asked, “What makes you think you can find him?”

  “Why not? He’s got to be somewhere. Why can’t his sister find him?”

  “Because you have no idea what you’re doing.” Jackie huffed in frustration. Looking around, she took a deep breath, struggling to soften her expression. Starting over, she said, “Abby, sweetheart, don’t get yourself hurt any more than you already have been. The FBI can’t find him. We don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

  “He’s alive, Mom, and you know it.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I just mean that if anything really serious had happened to him, you’d know it.”

  They were approaching Sir Reginald’s, a deli and restaurant across Superior Street from the lakewalk. A kid on a skateboard passed them, his smile and open jacket revealing his satisfaction with the summer day. They crossed the street, and Abby stopped in front of the restaurant. She said, “I just totally believe that when something really horrible happens to a child, the mother senses it. Somewhere down deep, she knows.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, honey.” Jackie reached out to stroke Abby’s arm. “I don’t think that’s the kind of mother I’ve been to you kids. I doubt I could feel what you’re describing.”