Black Otter Bay

by Vincent Wyckoff

  Louder this time, Abby asked, “Marcy! Where are we going?”

  “To Arlene’s,” she answered, without taking her eyes off the road.

  “Arlene Fastwater?”

  Marcy grinned and leaned slightly toward Abby. “You got a better idea where we can get rid of this folder?”

  Abby returned Marcy’s smile. “Perfect,” she said, nodding her agreement. Then after a thoughtful pause, she asked, “So, do you know where she lives, or are we just going to drive in circles all night?”

  “Hah!” Marcy laughed. “I dated Leonard for over a year. I guess I should know where his mother lives.”

  They entered a residential neighborhood and Marcy slowed down so as not to attract attention on the quiet, deserted streets. After a few more turns, and a couple more anxious looks over their shoulders, she suddenly stopped on a side street at the edge of a large corner lot. A split-level home, situated all alone on the hilltop, commanded a view over the harbor on the lakeside, and the ridge and woods behind.

  Marcy didn’t waste any time. Glancing up at the house, she shifted into park and said, “The lights are on. Come on.” And then she was out the door and jogging up the wide front lawn to the breezeway door.

  Abby stayed close, keeping an ear tuned to the street behind them while looking up at the huge, stately house. Marcy led them into the insufficient glow of a low-watt bulb outside the screen door of the breezeway, which was attached to the house on one side and a three-season porch on the other. The exact color of the house was indistinguishable in the dark. Through oversized picture windows she spotted floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all of them stacked to overflowing with fat, leather-bound books. A tuck-under garage was mostly hidden from view in the dark.

  Marcy didn’t stop at the door. Instead, she simply rang the doorbell before letting herself in. They dashed through the breezeway, and just as Marcy reached for the inside door, it swung open before them. Arlene Fastwater stood in the doorway, looking even bigger and more imposing than Abby remembered. Her hair was piled up on her head, some of it in curlers, some of it secured in place with pins and barrettes. She wore a flowered print housedress, huge and shapeless, but the smile she bestowed on them was pure small town friendly.

  “Hello, ladies!” she exclaimed, arms open wide in welcome. “My goodness, isn’t this a wonderful surprise!”

  Marcy barged straight inside while Abby hung back, a little shy in front of this legendary woman. Arlene waved an arm into the room. “Well, come on in, Abby,” she said, an amiable impatience in her voice.

  Abby stepped inside. Marcy stalked over to the wide windows overlooking the lakefront and the street below, while the high ceilings and spacious styling of the large front room captured Abby’s imagination. Arlene said, “Miss Abby Simon, to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”

  A side table covered with animal figurines had drawn Abby’s attention. She stood before the three-foot high table looking at porcelain statues of elephants and tigers, stone carvings of monkeys, horses, and fish, and elegant, antique wooden duck decoys. The largest figure by far, at life size, was a somewhat abstract, grisly caricature of a goose. Abby leaned over for a closer inspection, a conflicted expression of intrigue and disgust on her face. The goose looked like something a child might accidentally create, primitive and simple, but with enough lifelike contours to give the grotesque features a frightening appearance.

  “Leonard gave me that one,” Arlene said. “An Indian up in Manitoba carved it.” She laughed. “For a while there, just after I put it out on the table, I had nightmares about the thing.”

  “It is kind of scary,” Abby said. “But it’s beautiful, too.” She turned to look at Arlene. “It made me remember your talk at Rosie’s memorial, that story you told about when you were a little girl, and the goose coming to visit you at the bait shop.”

  Arlene’s smile broadened and she stepped closer. “Bless your heart, Abby. Leonard grew up with that story, too, so he brought this goose home from one of his journey quests up north. He says the goose is my spiritual guardian, and this carving will protect my house from evil spirits.” She laughed. “With a look like that, I don’t doubt it.”

  She clasped her hands together and looked from Abby to Marcy, her unabashed grin proving her joy at seeing them. “One minute I’m sitting at my desk, bored to death, going over case reports and reading briefs, wondering just how it is that people can get themselves into so much trouble.” She clapped her hands in delight, as if performing a magic trick, and said, “And suddenly I have friends visiting from back home. This is just so wonderful.”

  Marcy left her window perch and crossed the room with her head down. “Actually, Arlene, we’re sort of in trouble ourselves.” She braved a look into Arlene’s strong face. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Trouble?” Arlene’s expression turned serious. “My goodness, Marcy, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Okay you two, I’m going to get us some refreshments, and then you’re going to sit down and tell me what this is all about.”

  SIXTEEN

  Arlene Fastwater

  Arlene returned to the living room with a tray stacked with teacups, cookies, a pitcher of milk, and a ceramic teapot emitting exotic aromas of the Far East.

  Marcy took the cup offered to her and returned to her station at the window, her protective senses still on high alert. “Could we turn down the lights? It’s possible that we’re being followed.”

  Arlene stepped over to a dimmer switch and lowered the lights. “Okay, now out with it. What’s going on?”

  Abby helped herself to a couple of cookies and joined Marcy at the window, but as far as she could see there wasn’t any traffic outside at all. Off to the right she saw the rear end of Marcy’s Buick parked around the side of the house.

  Marcy said, “Boy, do we have a story.” She paced across the room again, nervous energy giving her movements a stiff, robotic-like stride. She sipped from her teacup, and then spun around and pitched an anxious glance at Arlene. “Starting with the fact that Randall Bengston knows where Ben Simon is.”

  Arlene’s head snapped up like she’d been slapped. “He told you that?”

  Abby stole a peek at her, watching as Arlene went to Marcy to lay a hand on her shoulder, leading her back to Abby’s side. With her other hand she reached out to gently stroke Abby’s cheek, a calm reassurance in her touch. “Please, you two. Sit down. You’re safe here.”

  They sat on the long, wide sofa, Arlene between them, the animal figurines looking over their shoulders. “Now,” Arlene said, patting a thigh on either side of her. “Tell me this story of yours.”

  And so they did, or at least, Marcy did. Abby still wasn’t ready to reveal her secrets. Marcy talked about Randall, and how he’d startled them at the gallery. She described his drunken dialogue and his cell phone call. “He was telling his friends we were there. And he had a gun.”

  A sharp intake of breath. “He held a gun on you?”

  “Well, no. But he would have if Leonard hadn’t shown up.”

  “Leonard? He’s supposed to be up home working with Marlon tonight.”

  Marcy shook her head. “Not tonight. He was keeping an eye on us. I bet Sheriff Fastwater told him to. Anyway, he saw me up at the casino, and followed me down to The Tempest.”

  Arlene’s eyebrow went up. “You were at the casino?”

  Marcy glanced at Abby. “Yeah, well, I was just looking around.” She went on to relate how she’d been thrown out at the hands of a big gangster-looking dude.

  “Thrown out? Where was Leonard when all this was going on?”

  “Probably outside keeping watch.” She told about seeing Jackie, and how she’d boarded the bus for the casino outside of town. “When I left I spotted Abby, and joined her down at the gallery. Oh, yeah,” she added, “I won a bunch of money at the casino, but I gave it away.”

  Arlene shook her head, overwhelmed by all the information and unable to make much se
nse out of most of it. She didn’t know what to believe, or which pieces of the story may have been enhanced by Marcy’s vivid imagination. And, she wondered, how did any of this have anything to do with Ben’s disappearance? She looked at Abby for clarification, but the young girl was finishing off a glass of milk and seemed oblivious to Marcy’s story. Arlene had years of experience questioning people, as well as reading their reactions and emotions, and the primary thing she’d picked up on so far was Abby’s reticence. She reached across with her free hand and gently stroked the girl’s face, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. She asked softly, “Do you think Randall really knows where Ben is?”

  Abby shrugged.

  Marcy said, “He told us not to say anything, and if we’re quiet, Ben will be home soon.”

  Arlene continued watching Abby. She could sense the tension beneath the teenager’s implacable demeanor.

  Then Marcy jumped up. “Oh, hey, we found out that Randall is doing some creative bookkeeping at The Tempest. Like laundering money or something. Show her the file, Abby.”

  “You have it, remember? You wouldn’t give it to me.” The bitterness in Abby’s voice wasn’t lost on Arlene, either.

  Marcy looked around, as if she could make the file folder magically appear. “It must be in the car. I’ll run down and get it.” She started for the door, but stopped to ask, “May I use your bathroom first?”

  “Of course, dear,” Arlene said. “You know where it is.”

  After Marcy left the room, Arlene continued to sit with Abby, sharing her silence for a few more moments. Then she said, “It sounds like you’ve had quite a day.”

  Abby nodded and broke a timid smile.

  “You really miss your brother, don’t you?”

  There wasn’t a need to respond to the question, but Abby’s eyes glistened with tears.

  “Of course you do, dear. And you want to help him, or protect him if you can.”

  A single tear spilled over to run down Abby’s cheek.

  Arlene put an arm around her and held her close. “It’s okay to cry a little,” she said. “It’s okay to cry, because we can’t always be strong all the time. Sometimes we need a break, and other times we need some help.”

  Abby responded with a sniffle.

  “One time when I was about your age, maybe just a bit younger, I went on a scavenger hunt with a group of friends from our church youth group in Black Otter Bay. It was Sunday evening, which is not a good time to have a scavenger hunt, but we were doing pretty good, although the other team was doing well, too. By nightfall, we only needed one more item to win. Unfortunately, that item was a light bulb.” She squeezed Abby closer. “Do you know how hard it is to get a light bulb at suppertime on a Sunday in Black Otter Bay? All the stores were closed, and most everybody in town had gone inside for the night. We were frantic, knocking on doors, but no one would answer. Then, in desperation, my best friend Lindsey ran up to a garage and unscrewed the light bulb.”

  Abby lifted her face to look into the shining brown eyes above her. “That’s right, Abby,” Arlene said. “Lindsey stole the light bulb for our team. We ran back to church, turned in all the items on our list, and got hot fudge sundaes for winning. The next day, the owner of the garage called the church to say a light bulb had been stolen. He’d even witnessed the theft, and he claimed that ‘the Indian girl’ had done it. Pastor Petersen walked out to our house for a long talk with my mother. She was waiting for me when I came home from school.”

  Arlene looked down at Abby cradled in her large, warm arm. When the girl returned her glance, she smiled and continued. “You can imagine how shocked I was. But I couldn’t very well squeal on my best friend, could I? We’d had so much fun the night before, and now this guy wanted ‘that Indian girl’ to pay for a new light bulb. I was so mad, but I was scared, too. I mean, come on, it was just a light bulb.”

  “So, what did you do? You had to tell the truth, right?”

  Arlene sat back and laughed. “Well, no way was I going to tell on my friend. And I refused to pay for the light bulb. That would be the same as admitting that I stole it. Sort of like you telling the investigators that you don’t know where your brother is; it’s not really a lie, but not completely honest, either.” She cupped Abby’s chin and made her look at her. When she was certain that her point had been heard, her expression softened, and she concluded, “So in the end, I misled my mother and told her I found it.”

  Abby scrunched up her nose. “You lied to your mother?”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie, now was it? I mean, after all, we did find it. I just didn’t tell her that Lindsey found it screwed into a light fixture on a garage.”

  Abby looked skeptical. “Did she believe you?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know what she thought. But she asked me over and over if I stole it, and I kept saying no, we found it, and so finally she called the reverend and told him I didn’t steal it.”

  Abby said, “You must have felt horrible.”

  “I’ll say. My mother said, ‘You’re my daughter, Arly. If you tell me that you didn’t steal it, then I believe you.’ Turns out, she intended to stand up for me.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, the reverend asked us to come down to the church after dinner. He said we’d discuss it. In the meantime, I went to my room in tears.”

  Abby gave her a thoughtful look. The memory of that long-ago event put a strain on Arlene’s face, matching Abby’s somber expression.

  “My brother Marlon finally came home. You know he’s always been kind of a loner, and never a big one for words.” She chuckled. “Unlike me, the one in the family that never shuts up. Anyway, he knew something was wrong, and eventually I told him everything. It felt really good to unburden myself, Abby. Gosh, I was crying and sobbing, and all the time begging him not to tell on Lindsey.”

  It was quiet for a moment until they noticed Marcy leaning against the wall, arms crossed, listening to Arlene’s story. “Well?” Marcy asked, impatience in her voice. “What happened?”

  Arlene drew a deep breath, and then turned it into a yawn. The smile returned to her face, along with a soft blush from the fond memory. “Fact is, my big brother Marlon fixed it.”

  Abby leaned away, surprise on her face. “Really? How?”

  “Well, he ran down to Erickson’s—you know, the hardware store—and bought a few dollars worth of cheap light bulbs. Then he snuck out behind the garage and scattered them in a growth of weeds and bushes. It was near the garage, but off the man’s property at the edge of the woods.”

  “Why, that sneaky Marlon Fastwater,” Marcy said. “Wait until the next time I see him in the café.”

  Arlene pointed a long, wide index finger at her. “Don’t you dare say a word to him, Marcella. He saved my rear end that day.”

  “They believed you?” Abby asked. “It worked?”

  “Well, they couldn’t very well not believe me. Marlon went with us down to the church, and then we all trooped up to the scene of the crime. Marlon made it look accidental, but he led them straight over to the pile of light bulbs. He’d even broken a couple of them so they looked like they’d been there for a while. The garage owner came out and said he’d never seen the pile of bulbs before, but he swore he’d seen ‘that Indian girl’ steal the one off the garage. You know what Marlon said then?”

  Abby looked at Marcy, but neither of them had an answer.

  “My brother was pretty big, even back then. He stepped up to that fellow and said, ‘Maybe you just don’t like Indians.’”

  Abby gasped.

  “I tell you, Abby, that pretty much ended that discussion.”

  “So, what you’re telling her,” Marcy interjected, “is that it’s okay to lie.”

  “That’s not at all what I’m saying.” Arlene patted Abby’s thigh. “And this young one knows that. This is not about lying, is it, Abby?”

  Abby stared at her, a blank expression reveali
ng her confusion.

  “Whatever,” Marcy said, waving a hand in the air. “But it sure sounds like lying to me.”

  Arlene ignored the comment, focusing her attention on Abby. “As an attorney working in the DA’s office, most of the time in the public eye, I’ve learned a couple of very valuable lessons over the years. You know how everybody repeats the old maxim, ‘know thy enemy’? Well, the reality is that enemies come and go over the course of a lifetime. Our friends, on the other hand, and I’m talking about the type of friends that you can count on when you need them, are often around throughout your life. Like our mutual friend Rose, for instance, whose friendship meant so much to me when I was a child, or my mother, who took my side even though she must have had her doubts. And I’m telling you that a person couldn’t hope to find a more loyal friend than my brother, Marlon.”

  Arlene took a moment to reseat her large frame on the couch, snuggling in close to Abby. Marcy had started for the door, but Arlene’s dialogue delayed her departure so that now she lingered in the entryway, listening. Leaning in close to Abby, with an intimate voice, Arlene said softly, “Another thing I’ve learned is that it isn’t so much the answer to a question that counts, but rather, it’s the question itself that’s important. For instance, in my case, instead of asking me if I stole the light bulb, they should have been asking who stole the light bulb.” She cocked an eyebrow at Abby. “See what I mean?”

  Abby nodded. “I guess.”

  “With the right question, it becomes an open-and-shut case; either you lie or you don’t.” She scrunched herself around to better face Abby. “Now,” she said. “Do you want me to start asking the questions?”

  Abby shook her head, a movement so short and quick as to be nearly imperceptible. She stood up and poured herself another glass of milk, keeping her back to Arlene while looking at the array of animal figures on the side table. Marcy took a step toward her, but at a look from Arlene stopped in mid-stride.