On closer inspection, the shotgun was mine. I stepped up to Zack and swiped it from his grasp, then planted my fist on my hip. “Well?”
Zack whipped off his shirt, almost making me grin.
“We were shooting squirrels,” Rory said, after he’d followed suit.
“Squirrels? With this?”
Rory chuckled. “They explode. It’s awesome.”
Oh my god. Men. “I guess the better question is, why the heck are you shooting squirrels, when my cabin is still not fixed?”
“There’s no point in fixing it, until we get control of the squirrel situation,” Zack said.
“They’re cabin-destroyers,” said Rory. “They’ll eat their way into your roof, churn your insulation until it’s urine-soaked and useless. Heck, I’d be very surprised if they haven’t already.”
Zack was nodding. “They’re insidious tree rats. The only good squirrel is a dead squirrel.”
“And one blown to bits,” said Rory, “even better.”
I rubbed the ache growing between my eyes. Maybe Helly’d been right. Maybe it wasn’t worth the trouble…
No! They broke it, they’d fix it. That’s how it worked. That’s how it was going to work.
I sucked in a deep, calming breath, the type that I usually prescribed to Helly. “Okay, this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to stop shooting squirrels.”
“But—”
“No more shooting squirrels. Instead, you’re going to fix my roof.”
“But—”
“You’re not going to do anything except work on my house. Got it?”
They grumbled something that sounded like assent.
“First, I want you to look at everything Helly and Gary brought over, decide what else you need. Put in an order, get the rest of the boards shipped in. Some more roofing, blue so it matches the existing.”
They glanced over at my barge. “But we thought maybe you—”
“No. I don’t want to wait that long.” Additionally, I wasn’t going to allow them to saddle me with extra work, just to save them a few bucks, after they broke my house. They were going to pay, dammit! “Have the supplies flown in. ASAP.” Let them kiss their $300 goodbye for the flight. These boys were in dire need of a lesson on consequences, and I was just the woman to give it to them.
My gaze had landed on my crushed generator house. “Also,” I said, “I want you to dig out my generator. Do it now.” I’d probably need to run it tonight if I wanted to keep the lights on.
Swinging my shotgun to point at the ground, I gave them a final ‘Don’t Fuck With Me’ look, then made for the house.
I brought my mail inside, and found my goat cowering under the table. I ground my teeth. Mimi wasn’t a timid sort, but gunshots and explosions didn’t agree with her.
After handing her a carrot, I started opening bills. Living out in the bush, I didn’t have a lot of traditional bills. No electric or gas. No water or trash pickup.
Before you get excited, no, it’s not like I wasn’t paying for those things. My generator, which provided electricity, ran on diesel. My oven, on propane. My boats, gasoline. I had to buy all of those fuels directly. By the time they got out to the bush, the price had basically doubled due to transportation cost—gas that was three-something in town became $7/gallon, etc.
I had an advantage here because I did the transporting myself, a thousand gallons of gasoline or diesel at a time. The problem was, I bought all of these fuels on a credit card—one that got me Alaska Airlines miles—and I had a few clients that had not yet reimbursed me. I had one client in particular that hadn’t paid three bills totaling $15,455.25, accumulated in the past two years.
So, I had a big-ass credit card with an obscene interest rate, and I was paying that interest on a balance that wasn’t mine. I cringed as I opened this month’s bill, then clenched my teeth as I saw the bottom line. In that mysterious way that credit cards seemed to have, my payments weren’t chipping away at the balance at all. I really needed to get it paid.
I’d bugged Clint Lascomb in the past to pay his bill. The frustrating part was, he probably had several times that amount in the bank right this very moment. He owned a posh fishing lodge upstream, and had several lucrative side businesses. So he wasn’t unable to pay. No, the man was just a stingy dick. He didn’t pay a bill he felt he didn’t have to, and apparently, he didn’t feel he had to pay me.
Setting the bill down, I pulled out my phone and dialed. As the phone rang, I looked out the window.
The brothers had my generator shack half-deconstructed. A corner of a dented generator was appearing from the mess. I felt my stress level rising as I mentally estimated what that generator had cost, and how much money I didn’t have to buy another.
“Majestic Lodge, how may I help you?”
“I need to speak with Clint,” I said.
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Suzy Ramsey.”
“Ah, Ms. Ramsey, I’m afraid Clint isn’t in.”
Sure, he’s not.
“May I take a message?”
“Yes. Please. Tell your boss I’d really appreciate it if he’d pay his bills. As I’m sure he knows, he’s got an outstanding account with me, several thousand dollars dating back two years. I need that money.”
“Of course,” the woman said, not sounding at all surprised. “I’ll pass on your message.”
“Thank you,” I said, not having much hope. I’d had identical exchanges with whatever newest help Clint had, at least a half dozen times before. He was never in, he never returned my call. He never paid, and I continued to pay interest on his debt.
Setting the bill aside, I leafed through the rest of the envelopes, wanting something positive to help me climb back out of my funk. One in particular caught my eye: ‘Law Offices of Schenk & Little’. Huh. I didn’t have a lawyer, though I should probably get one to get my money from Clint. I turned the envelope over, opened it, and scanned the letter. Big fancy heading, addresses for everybody and their mother…
My urge to yawn died suddenly when I got to this part: Re: Gold Nugget, ‘Georgette’.
Dear Ms. Ramsey,
It has been brought to my attention that you are in possession of my client’s property, namely a 5.7 lb. gold nugget the previous owner designated ‘Georgette’. This gold nugget was left to the previous owner’s daughter, my client, Ms. Chastity Harsnot, in his most recent and official will, copy enclosed. Thus, you are in possession of what is essentially stolen property. Ms. Harsnot has generously agreed to give you one month to return her property. If you have not produced the nugget by the 30th of June, 2016, she will file suit for the full value of the nugget at current gold prices, plus 20% as it is a large, natural nugget, for the total amount of $119,092.28.
Sincerely,
Lawyerly, No-Sense-Of-Humor Dickhead
A buzzing began in my ears. I reread the body of the letter, disbelieving what I’d just read. No, that’s really what it said, except for the ‘dickhead’ part.
I flipped the sheet out of the way, eyeing the will. It was dated five years ago. I skimmed to the section that had been helpfully marked with a red sticky arrow. Feverishly, I read.
Indeed, according to this, Georgette should have gone to a woman named Chastity.
Mother. Fucking. Hell.
I dropped both sheets of paper on my table. Feeling like hyperventilating, I scrubbed at my face with both hands.
Could this possibly be right? Ralph had handed that nugget to me, given it to me, had wanted me to have it. And yet, his ‘most recent will’ said it was his daughter’s. Could that be right? I’d only really known Ralph the last four years, so yes, I guess it could. If he hadn’t updated his will, if that had somehow slipped his mind…
I, me, with my cabin payment, barge payment, and maxed-out credit card, suddenly owed someone over $100,000.
I hadn’t even known he had a daughter.
Needing to move, I shoved to my feet and b
egan to pace.
What the hell was I going to do? I didn’t have the nugget. It was gone, and I didn’t know who took it.
But I needed it, because if I didn’t turn it over to this phantom daughter—because things written on a piece of paper five years ago trumped intention a month ago—I’d owe more than my cabin was worth. It just didn’t seem right.
I read the letter again.
It was all the same. A mysterious woman named Chastity was the ‘rightful owner’ of my nugget.
And, what’s more, the letter said I had a month, but mail being what it is to Alaska, I now had two weeks. Two weeks to produce $100,000.
I threw the papers down on my table, and started to pace again. To say I was perturbed was putting it mildly.
I needed to get the nugget back. I needed to figure out who took it.
I stopped in front of the kitchen window, gazing out at the brothers as they pulled the last of the crumpled roofing away from the generator. The sun gleamed off their skin, highlighting their flexing muscles, but it was the dented-up generator that held my attention.
I had a feeling about Ed. It was a hunch, not unlike the feeling I got when I was barging in dangerously shallow water. Ed had a secret. And with the way he got around, even if he didn’t steal my nugget, he might have an idea of who did.
I wouldn’t see Ed for another couple days, if he went barging with me again. But Ed liked to fix things.
I ran out the door, and jammed down the button to prime the big engine. Holding my breath, I pushed START. Nothing happened.
Yes! I ran back inside. Found our local phone directory. Found Ed’s number. Pulled out my phone. Dialed.
“Hello?”
“Ed, my generator’s gone tits-up. Helly’s brothers moved the tree they dropped on it, but now it won’t start.”
“Ah. I can come look at—”
“No! No,” I said, moderating my tone. “The brothers are still here, and I’d really like to have some time away from them. Can I load it on my barge and bring it to you? Please?” Had I come on too strong?
“Uh… sure.”
“Now?” I wheedled in my cute voice. I had a $100,000 gold nugget missing; every second counted, and its recovery warranted every weapon in my arsenal.
“Sure,” he said. “I’d be happy to look at it now.”
Yes! “Thank you so much! I’ll be right there,” I chirped.
I had the brothers lift the generator and carry it to my barge. They grumbled the whole way, making manly sounds about how they could fix it for me. I ignored them.
Then I drove to Ed’s place. He was waiting for me down at the beach, sitting on one of a pair of lawn chairs along the river. For some reason, the sight of him made my heart beat a little faster. Probably the idea that he could be a thief.
He unfurled himself from the chair as I pulled up, and then tied off my bow ropes, correctly, without having to be asked. I spent a moment too long staring at him, caught by the way the sunlight created red-gold highlights in his dark hair.
Then I hurried forward and lowered the ramp so he could walk onboard. He was careful to tap the mud off his boots before he stepped onto the aluminum decking.
“Um, is there any chance I could use your bathroom?” I asked. “I know, I should have gone before I left…” I did my best to look small and helpless, and like I really needed to pee. The look probably would have worked better on someone who hadn’t seen me run Helly’s brothers down and force a confession from them at gunpoint.
But Ed said yes. I followed him up the bank, noting he actually had a pretty fine ass under those jeans. As we moved onto a trail that wound into the trees, I looked around with curiosity. I’d never been to his place before.
“Oh my god, I love it!” I exclaimed as a little covered bridge came into view.
He tossed a grin at me over his shoulder, and then slowed so we were walking side-by-side. “My dad’s idea,” he said, “to dress up a sad little ravine.”
“It’s wonderful,” I breathed, listening to our footsteps echo as we walked through it. It was only about ten feet long, and just wide enough for a four-wheeler to pass.
After the covered bridge, the woods opened up onto a yard. A gorgeous yard. Ed had a lush green lawn, and a pond with clumps of irises growing in the far end. A couple big, beautiful, flowering lilacs. Apple trees.
And amongst all of the wonderful greenery? The most amazing sculptures I’d ever seen. A giant crane stood next to the path. Over by the pond was a life-sized metal moose with twin calves frolicking on the grass.
I stopped to examine the crane. Old parts, I realized. Ed’s sculptures were made out of rusted metal welded together. Car parts, nuts and bolts. I recognized a spark plug and some gears.
“Did you make these?” I asked, touching the detail in the wing. Old butter knives had been welded in as feathers. They shone in the sun.
“Yeah.”
His voice sounded strange, so I looked up at him. He was doing his bashful thing. Ed is shy, I was reminded.
“They’re amazing,” I said. “This is what you do with all those old parts, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Come on, I’ll show you to the bathroom.”
Bemused, I followed him to his cabin, which sat kitty-corner in front of a huge shop. The amazing details, and sheer character, didn’t stop at his yard. He had a hand-made iron door handle, and the railing on the stairs was welded out of scrap metal in winding, swirling patterns. The interior of the house had a lot of bare wood, including the flooring, which looked to be polished birch. He had a bar stool with diamond willow legs, and a coffee table made out of half a spruce burl.
“You, also?” I asked him, running my fingertips over the stool. Wow.
His beard twitched. “Yeah. Bathroom’s down and to the left,” he said. “I’ll go look at the generator.” Then he was gone.
I really hadn’t thought he was going to make this easy for me. I watched through one of his charming, multi-paned windows as he disappeared down the trail.
Then I began to search.
I got through all of the downstairs, but couldn’t quite bring myself to go up and search his bedroom. I was already invading his privacy, but that would have been taking it a little further than I was ready to go. I learned he liked country music, chocolate (unless the reason he had such a big stash was because he didn’t like it), his shoe size was 11, his jackets smelled like a combination of sawdust and engine grease, and he had all of the trimmings of a really accomplished cook. I couldn’t decide whether the fact that he appeared well-off—despite what I’d seen of him never actually accepting money—made him more or less suspicious.
The most suspicious thing I found—and it was damning—were several books about gold. Finding it, mining it, gold panning, valuing. But my gold nugget wasn’t hiding in any of his cupboards, as far as I could tell.
I was half a breath from checking upstairs when I kicked myself out the door instead. I had to have taken 10 minutes already, and I knew he had to be wondering what I was up to. I took a few steps toward the covered bridge.
But then I looked to my right, and saw that huge shop. I hesitated, but finally figured, Hey, I’m a girl, and girls take a long time in the bathroom. If he challenges me on it, I was fixing my makeup. Or dropping a difficult deuce; that would shut him up.
Chuckling, I ran to the shop and let myself inside. I couldn’t search it extremely well, as there were just too many boxes and shelves and racks and cabinets and drawers. But I did the best I could. Ed was organized, I found, and seemed to have every tool imaginable.
I paused at his workbench, looking over the work-in-progress there. This sculpture was smaller in scale than the others, and it wasn’t entirely done, but it looked like a man. A boxer, maybe, his hands in ball-bearing mitts, held up in guard position. The attention to detail on the muscles, the way he was communicating determination and fierce action potential, even in his half-finished state, made me smile.
; Finished with my search, I ran down the trail, slowing to a walk as I came out of the trees. “Sorry I took so long,” I said, trying to keep my breathing under control. “I had to look at what you’d done with the bannisters on the stairs. They’re gorgeous.” He’d incorporated flat, colored glass marbles, so that the whole thing sparkled as it caught the light.
And that wasn’t all. The whole house was beautiful. The kitchen floor was some sort of real, sparkly stone. The furniture was overstuffed and leather and comfortable. And the bathroom made me wish I actually had to go. Custom tile work, a big tub, fixtures that looked like art.
How did the man afford it? It’s not like he could have taken off with my gold nugget, just a couple days ago, and bought and installed everything in that short amount of time. He didn’t have a job, that I could tell. He seemed to spend all of his time wandering around fixing things for people, but not getting paid for any of his work.
He grunted, still bent over my generator.
I grabbed a metal folding chair, set it down across the generator from him, and plopped onto it. As I watched him work, my naughty, wandering mind erased the generator from between us. He looked really good on his knees like that before me, his head bent like a supplicant. I knew he had grapes in that big, stainless steel fridge of his (Yes, I’d looked in the fridge. I always looked in the fridge.), and I imagined him feeding them to me as I reclined in a velvet-lined sedan chair. Him, using those capable hands to rub fragrant oils into my skin. Him, sliding those dexterous fingers between my legs…
I sat straight up so fast he glanced up at me.
Could it be? Considering I was staring at what I could see of his mouth, and wondering what it would feel like on my breast, yeah, it could. His beard had been scratchy but soft against my hand when I’d grabbed him, and it had prickled—but not unpleasantly—against my face. What would it feel like rubbing over the soft flesh between my breasts?
Holy crap, I’m attracted to Ed! And he was still looking at me, probably wondering if he was going to have to administer CPR.
I remembered to breathe. “So what have you been up to lately?” I asked, my voice an octave too high.
Two Captains, One Chair: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy Page 7
