The Seasons of the EmmaLee: One grand ship. Two love affairs, decades apart. An idyllic summer resort town torn apart by betrayal, murder and shattered dreams. (The Charlevoix Summer Series Book 1)

by Michael Lindley

  “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Sally said. “You’re being awfully tolerant of all this old family business.”

  “I just wish I had met your parents before the accident.”

  Sally looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” said Gwen. “I should know better.”

  Sally looked back out over the harbor and the boats. The light was growing dim in the late evening and the boat owners had turned on the multi-colored strings of lights that adorned their vessels. The scene was a jumbled mass of boats and people and horns blaring. Some of the boat crews had large slingshot water balloon launchers and were firing them at nearby boats.

  “Let me show you the rest of the ship.” Sally pulled Gwen by the arm and they started to make their way back to the main cabin door on this side of the ship. Alex Clark nearly bumped into them, coming from the other way.

  “Well, hello ladies,” he said. “You both look beautiful tonight. Thank you for coming.”

  Gwen spoke first, “We were just going below. I haven’t had a chance to take a tour.”

  “I wish I could go with you,” he said. “I owe you one, don’t I Sally, but I’ve got some people up forward I’m supposed to say hello to. I’ll try to catch up with you. Make yourselves at home.” He smiled and walked away.

  “God, he’s good looking,” Gwen said.

  “Don’t start,” Sally responded. “Come on, let’s go see where Alex wants to hang my painting in the dining area.”

  At the bottom of the steps they met young Megan who was coming out of her cabin. She was dressed in a summer print dress and white sandals.

  “Hi, Megan. Do you remember me?”

  “Sure, Sally,” said the little girl.

  “This is my friend, Gwen. Gwen, this is Alex’s beautiful daughter, Megan.”

  The girl shook hands politely with Gwen and said, “Sally, do you have our painting of the EmmaLee done yet?”

  The two women both laughed. Sally leaned down to eye level with Megan.

  “Honey, it takes a long time to finish a painting. It could be a couple of months at least.”

  “But, we’ll be gone by then,” she said with real concern.

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way to get it safely delivered to you.” Sally stood up and took the girl’s hand. “We were just taking a quick tour. Can you show us where the dining cabin is and where your father wants to hang the painting?”

  “Sure, come on,” she said excitedly.

  Megan showed them all of her favorite places on the ship, including the hot tub in her father’s suite. At the dining cabin, they saw the wall Alex had indicated for the painting. The empty space sat above a built-in mahogany bar at the end of the room. Sally made a mental note of the colors of the room and the furniture.

  Eventually they came back up to the deck and found the party to be in full swing. The band was playing a livelier tune now and many people were dancing in a group in the middle of the crowd.

  Megan pulled on Sally’s arm. “Sally, would you dance with me?”

  Sally hesitated for a moment, then saw the genuine excitement in the little girl’s eyes. “You bet!”

  She turned and looked back at Gwen with a funny look as she made her way into the dancing crowd. The song was an old disco tune from the 80’s, and the crowd was bouncing around wildly. Megan joined in and Sally found some sense of rhythm from the past and started dancing with her new little friend. It had been a long time since she had been on a dance floor and it felt great. She looked over and saw Alex dancing with Mary Alice. He smiled back at her, seemingly pleased that Sally was entertaining his daughter.

  The song came to an end and everyone applauded the band. They started up again quickly with a Rolling Stones number and the crowd began dancing again on cue. Sally declined another dance offer from Megan and they walked through the crowd back over to Gwen.

  “You’re a great dancer, Sally,” said the youngest Clark.

  “Yeah, you can really shake it, lady,” said Gwen with a devilish smile.

  Sally frowned at her friend, then thanked Megan for the compliment. “Were there any kids your age invited to the party tonight, Megan?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mary Alice brought her nephew, Steven. He’s going into seventh grade. He’s kind of a nerd.”

  Sally and Gwen laughed. “Maybe he’d like to dance? What do you think?” Sally asked.

  “I think I’m too young to dance with boys, don’t you?”

  “I think you’re just the right age,” Sally replied. “Why don’t you go find him? I’ll bet he’d really like to dance with a cutie like you.”

  “Do you think so?” Megan asked.

  “You’d better hurry before someone else asks him,” Sally said.

  She gave Sally a quick hug around the middle and then ran off.

  “Well, she certainly is a cutie,” said Gwen.

  “Yes, she is,” Sally said. “Let’s go up and get a good spot at the front of the boat for the parade. And let’s find a waiter. I think I feel the need for more wine.”

  As the sun set beyond the hills of town, darkness eased in over the lake and the boats shined more brightly. The time had come for the boats to begin assembling and the crew of the EmmaLee worked to free her lines and get the ship underway. Sally had always thought it remarkable during Venetian Festival each year that there weren’t more collisions with the heavy traffic of boats and the heavy volumes of alcohol being consumed onboard.

  After a while, the boats had formed into a procession heading around the small circumference of Round Lake. It had been arranged for the EmmaLee to lead. It was a beautifully clear night and the spectacle of the boat parade was exhilarating. Sally stood with Gwen and got lost in the excitement of the moment. She was startled by a loud explosion and the start of the fireworks display overhead. She squeezed her friend’s hand and thought back on whether her mother had stood in this same spot during the parade those many years ago.

  Chapter Six

  My friend Jonathan and I had our share of trouble back in those days. There was the time we were both out deer hunting over east of Boyne Falls. It was November of our junior year in high school. When would that have been? 1940, I guess. We had scouted out a piece of state land over the previous month, or so. There was a high ridge along a tree line. It gave us a great view of a long meadow that sloped away into a cedar swamp. We had seen some big bucks come out of the swamp just before dark on some of our scouting trips.

  Early morning on opening day we were positioned about twenty-five yards apart up on the ridge with our backs against big oak trees, looking down over the meadow. Our rifles lay resting across our legs. We had arrived two hours earlier to hike in and get in position.

  As the light started to show out to the east, the scene before us began to take shape. From the darkness, I could see the faint image of the far cedar swamp line, a darker shadow against the low grass of the meadow. Then, I saw several shadows move just the slightest bit and I could tell they were deer. I remember looking over toward Jonathan, but it was still too dark to make him out clearly and I didn’t dare try to talk to him for fear of spooking the herd. I figured he was seeing what I was seeing.

  I quietly brought my rifle up under my right arm and pressed the safety release. Several minutes that seemed like forever passed and the light continued to bring shape and form to the deer down below us. Now, I saw there were two bucks, both with nice racks, one on each end of a herd of about a dozen does and smaller fawns. It was light enough now and I could see Jonathan was getting into position to shoot.

  I thought to myself we needed to figure a way to time our shots together so we could take both bucks and not spook the other away. My hands were shaking and my breath felt like my chest would explode. Jonathan motioned to get my attention. He held up five fingers and began counting down one finger at a time.

  I lifted my rifle and took aim on the buck nearest to me on the left side of the herd. Counting down silently to myself,
I tried to steady my arms and take good aim just behind the shoulder of the big deer. “Three, two…” then explosions rang out down below us to the right. It sounded like twenty rifles, but it was just three, we were soon to find. I watched my deer jump suddenly and fall over motionless. Jonathan’s deer startled and ran a few steps, then stumbled and fell. The rest of the herd ran off in scattered directions toward the swamp. Then, there were more shots and one of the does fell in a heap.

  I looked over at Jonathan in absolute shock. What in the hell had happened? I looked back down across the meadow and saw three men walking out of the woods from where the rifles had erupted. I threw my own rifle down to the ground next to me in disgust. I felt a mindless anger building up in me. I jumped up and ran down the hill toward the men and the fallen deer. I heard Jonathan yell something to me, but I couldn’t make it out.

  I yelled out in anger, “You shot my goddamned deer you sonsofbitches!” I kept running down the hill. I was within a few dozen steps of the men who were just squatting down by the first deer, when I yelled again. “Get the hell outta there!”

  The three of them stood and turned to confront me. They held their rifles pointing down at the grass in front of them. I pulled up, breathing so hard I could barely speak. I was only a few steps away now and I could smell the whiskey on them even from where I stood. I didn’t recognize any of them. They were all grown men, probably in their 40’s.

  One had a gray beard and spoke first. “Who the hell are you?” he said in a deep slow voice, slurred from the whiskey.

  I couldn’t catch my breath and just stood there staring at them. Then I heard Jonathan walk slowly up behind me. He stopped by my right shoulder and I saw his rifle barrel pointing out to the ground in front of us.

  The gray beard spoke again. “You two boys better get the hell outta here now!” he spat.

  I about fainted then when he cocked his rifle and put another shell in the chamber. Jonathan spoke with a voice so calm that to this day, it still amazes me. “Those are two nice bucks you boys shot there. Seems to me like we were just a little too late, weren’t we, George?”

  I still couldn’t find words. My anger burned through my cheeks and I was shaking, standing there next to my friend.

  I heard Jonathan speak again. “Nice shootin’, boys. Come on George, let’s get moving.”

  He grabbed me by the sleeve of my jacket and started pulling me back up towards the hill.

  “You better get your buddy the hell outta here son,” the older man said again, taking a pint bottle out his jacket and taking a long drink.

  I watched the three men laugh at us and pass the bottle around as we backed our way up the hill.

  It wasn’t the first time Jonathan’s cooler head kept me from getting in way over my own head. Years later, we would laugh about that morning and I would get mad again at Jonathan for not holding up just three fingers.

  Jonathan looked forward to Sundays like little children looked forward to Christmas Eve. His life was hard, no harder than most others in this small town, but he worked hard for his father and for himself. During the school year, he studied late most nights. School didn’t come easy to him, but he kept his grades up. Even during the school year there was work to be done at home, household chores and work on the boats. There was so little time left and he was usually so tired he would fall into bed at the end of the day.

  The McKendry family did take a break for Sundays though. Of Scottish blood and from a long line of Presbyterians, they rarely missed Sunday service with Pastor Reynolds at the Congregational church. Only Luke had broken away lately and had stopped joining them for the walk to church on Sunday mornings. They sat together as a family and Jonathan would listen to his parents sing the hymns and recite the prayers. Listening to the pastor and his lesson, he would say his own prayers for his family, particularly for his brother and he would pray for guidance in his own life.

  When the choir sang the final hymn and led the congregation out of the sanctuary, Jonathan would be the first to break and head for home, running far ahead of his family. Sunday afternoons were his time and he rarely wasted a moment.

  Today, he was meeting Catherine Hansen out at the beach at North Point. She was bringing a picnic lunch and they would swim, look for Petoskey stones and lay in the sun together. She had been his girl for the past two years. He was thinking of Catherine now as he ran back to the house to change his clothes… her blonde hair… her new black bathing suit… her tanned legs.

  “Thank God for Sundays!” he yelled as he ran along with thoughts of Catherine’s new bathing suit anxious on his mind.

  Twenty minutes later, he was riding his bike through town on his way to the beach. There was a lot of traffic along Bridge Street with people returning home from church and summer people with places to be. Jonathan rode quickly through the traffic, swerving to miss pedestrians trying to cross the street. A black convertible pulled out suddenly from a side street in front of him. He didn’t have time to turn, or stop. He instinctively skidded the bike sideways and slid to the pavement with the bike tumbling out in front of him. Both he and the bike ended in a pile next to the car that had also stopped when the driver saw the boy on the bike.

  Jonathan was trying to get up and check the condition of his bike and his body at the same time. He heard voices above him in the car. A face peered over the driver’s door and looked down at him. It was a younger man, his hair neatly combed back. Jonathan recognized him as the man on the boat standing with Emily Compton the other night.

  “Are you blind? You need to watch where you’re going, son,” the driver scolded in a harsh tone.

  Jonathan heard laughter from other people in the car.

  “It’s a damn good thing you didn’t scratch this car, son, or I’d have to kick your butt all the way down Bridge Street,” the young man said.

  Jonathan got to his feet. He could now see that there were three other boys in the car. His legs and hands were burning from the scrapes and cuts from the pavement. They were still laughing at him.

  Jonathan swallowed hard to gain his composure, but his anger got the best of him. “That looks like a stop sign there. You have trouble reading?” he said, looking directly into the eyes of the man.

  The passengers in the car grew silent and waited for the driver to respond. He sat for a moment, then reached down and pulled the door latch and opened his door slowly. He got out and stepped within a few inches of Jonathan’s face.

  “I’m not sure I heard you correctly. You want to repeat that?” the driver said, his eyes seething with a threatening glare. A crowd had gathered now, watching the confrontation.

  Jonathan felt a fire burning up within. He was telling himself to back down, but he just couldn’t. He looked beyond the driver and saw the three other boys were getting out of the car to back up their friend. This would not turn out well, he was thinking as he tried to quickly gauge the danger.

  “I asked you a question, son,” the driver said now. “Are you deaf and blind?” he said with more calm in his voice now, knowing his friends were behind him.

  Jonathan looked him square in the eyes. “If you and I have a problem here, then why don’t we walk alone down behind the store there and see if we can’t settle that problem.” He spoke slowly and with as much authority as he could muster.

  Someone grabbed him from behind. It was the Sheriff, Willy Potts. He had been Sheriff of Charlevoix County as long as anyone could remember. He filled his uniform to full capacity with a girth that spread generously out over his gun belt.

  “What’s going on here, gentlemen?” the portly old police officer asked.

  No one answered. Jonathan kept staring into the eyes of the driver.

  “Are you okay, Jonathan?” Potts asked.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Why don’t you boys get back in your car there and clear the street for me. You understand?”

  Connor Harris ignored the request and continued to face down Jonathan.
The sheriff edged his way between the two boys and stood facing Connor. “I said get out of here, and I mean now!” The sheriff pushed his big belly up against Connor’s. “Now!”

  Connor slowly backed away toward his car. He motioned for his friends to get back in the automobile. He pointed at Jonathan. “I’ll be seeing you down the road, son.” He turned away. “Come on fellas.” He gave Jonathan one more malevolent look, then got in the car and pulled out into traffic.

  Potts turned to Jonathan. “You sure you’re okay? You got some nasty road burns there.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he answered.

  “You stay away from those types. We don’t need that kind of trouble around here.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jonathan said.

  The sheriff walked away.

  Jonathan looked down at his bike and the people milling around him. Most looked away sheepishly and started moving on. George Hansen came running up, out of breath with a wild look in his eye.

  “I just heard you were gettin’ into a scrape down here. I was having a soda and Billy ran in and told me you were staring down a bunch of summer boys,” George said, trying to catch his breath.

  “I’m okay.” Jonathan reached down and picked up his bike. It seemed to be in working order. “Look, I’m meeting Catherine out at the beach. I gotta go.”

  “You know, I shouldn’t be letting you run around with my sister,” George said.

  “Aw, shut up.” Jonathan pushed his friend back and got on his bike. “It’s a little late to start playing big brother.”

  “You behave now and you let me know if those summer boys start givin’ you a hard time again,” George said. “You and me can take those candy asses. You know that.”