Cruelest Month

by Aaron Stander

  Thirty minutes later they were at Lake Michigan, carrying boats, one at a time, from the parking lot to the shore. They made a third trip for their gear bags and paddles.

  On the beach they packed thermoses of hot coffee, sandwiches, energy bars, and extra clothing and gear into the watertight hatches.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Hannah, noting that Ray was standing at the side of his boat looking thoughtful.

  “Now that I’m standing in the wind, I’m not sure I’m layered up enough under the dry suit.”

  “I had the same thought. You packed extra fleece?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “Ditto. But you don’t want to be too hot, either. I think once we get going, we’ll be plenty warm enough.”

  They pulled on their spray skirts and zipped up their PFDs, slid into their kayaks, attached the neoprene skirts to the cockpit coaming, and launched into the gentle chop. The waves picked up once they got beyond the headland and turned toward the island.

  “Are you warm enough?” asked Ray.

  “Perfect, but my skeg won’t deploy. I must have gotten a stone in it when we launched. Would you see if you can set it free?”

  Ray brought his bow close to Hannah’s cockpit. She reached across and grabbed his deck lines. Pulling off a mitten, Ray unclipped the knife from the front of his PFD and carefully ran the squared-off tip along the groove between the fiberglass hull and the plastic skeg. He found the offending pebble with his knife and pushed it free.

  “Try it now.”

  “Perfect. Thank you. What’s our final destination, by the way?” Hannah asked as they drifted.

  “Let’s head for the lighthouse. Part of that shore is rocky, but there are also some sandy places where we can land.”

  They paddled for few minutes side by side. Ray looked over and saw Hannah’s joyful smile. “What’s going on?”

  Hannah laughed. “I get on the water and within a few paddle strokes I connect with this world and everything that has me on the edge of blowing up evaporates. The wind, the water, the blade—there’s nothing else.”

  With little more conversation, they held a steady cadence for close to two hours, finally landing on a sandy beach a few hundred yards from the old lighthouse.

  “It looks like we’re not alone,” said Ray pointing toward a Zodiac high on the shore beyond the sand.

  They spread their spray skirts and PFDs over their boats and settled into a lunch of sandwiches and steaming coffee on a small promontory at the top of the beach.

  “I never thought peanut butter could taste so good.”

  “It’s one of my favorites,” said Ray, sounding a bit defensive. “Great bread, organic peanut butter. Of course it’s going to be good.”

  “What do you think that’s about?” Hannah asked, pointing toward the Zodiac.

  “I don’t know. Awfully small boat for this water. Before we leave, we should have a quick look around and make sure no one’s stranded here.”

  Later, as Hannah disappeared into the woods, Ray walked up the beach and inspected the Zodiac. Two nylon-covered orange PFDs and a wooden canoe paddle were on the floor of the seatless craft. A small, worn-looking outboard was secured to the transit.

  Ray climbed past the boat and looked up the beach. Two young men were approaching him. The first—portly and carrying a metal detector with a backpack hanging by one strap over his shoulder—wore khaki shorts and an unzipped nylon jacket that covered a grey hoodie. He was moving at a good pace. The second boy—carrying a shovel and trailing behind—was tall and extremely thin. He looked cold and morose in his cut-off jeans and a faded red Henley, which was open at the collar, exposing a cotton undershirt.

  “How you guys doing?” asked Ray.

  “Great,” said the first one, eyeing Ray cautiously.

  “Doing some treasure hunting?”

  “You a park ranger?” asked the teenager, looking at Ray’s dry suit.

  “No. I just paddled across with a friend,” Ray motioned toward their beached kayaks. “We were just about to start back. You guys park rangers?”

  The kid with the metal detector laughed. “Sure.”

  “So what are you looking for?”

  “Asshole thinks he’s going to find buried treasure,” said the taller of the two.

  “Screw you, Ty. If I found anything, you’d be first in line to share it.”

  “Are you looking for lost items, or are you ….”

  “It’s some wild idea Win got out of a book,” sneered Ty.

  “Really,” said Ray. “You guys hungry? I’ve got some energy bars in here.” Ray pulled two bars from a pocket in his PFD. There was a momentary hesitation from the boys; first Ty and then Win accepted the offer.

  Ty grabbed the wrapping with his teeth, peeled it, and bit off a large chunk of the bar. As he chewed he said, “Go ahead and tell him, Win. Like it’s no big fucking mystery.”

  Win fished a smart phone out of his pocket. “It’s a book on Kindle,” he explained. “It says some of the money was buried on the Manitou Islands, just beyond the shadow of the lighthouse. It didn’t say which lighthouse, but that other one is clear out in the water.” He pushed the last piece of the bar into his mouth, and then fidgeted with the phone, holding it out so Ray could read the screen.

  “Interesting,” said Ray. “Too bad the author didn’t tell you what time of day or the date. There’s a lot of territory just beyond the shadow of the lighthouse.”

  “Yeah, well, the author says early in the book that most of the money was buried at night, so I don’t get how he knew about the shadow anyway. He also says that they buried most of the money during mild weather, but some of the biggest stashes were made during the winter when Capone thought the ‘Untouchables’” were about to close him down.”

  “So we’re talking about Al Capone here?”

  “Yeah,” answered Win.

  “If there ever was any treasure, it’s long gone,” added Ty. “And I’m out here freezing my ass off on a wild goose chase.”

  “What’s the book’s title?” asked Ray.

  “It’s something about Capone’s lost treasure in Michigan.”

  “How did you find out about it?” asked Ray.

  “A kid at school. He got a copy for Christmas, a real copy, a book. I got it on Kindle for four bucks. Lots of people downloaded it.”

  “Win decided he’d be the first one to the island to get the treasure. Like most of it’s already been found on the coastline,” said Ty, who shivered as he delivered his sarcastic line.

  “He’s just pissed because he got splashed a little on the way over. He’s always bitching about something,” retorted Win.

  “If I was fat like you, I wouldn’t be cold,” Ty shot back.

  “We have some hot coffee,” Ray said. “Would you like some Ty, Win?”

  “That’d be great.”

  “And I’ve got an extra fleece jacket.”

  “I’m okay,” said Ty.

  Ray was pouring coffee when Hannah reappeared. “We’ve got a couple of boaters here,” he said, introducing her and giving his first name. “Ty here seems chilled. I offered him a fleece, but he doesn’t think he needs it. We did energy bars and now hot coffee. Hannah’s a doctor.”

  “Can I check your pulse?”

  Ty reluctantly held out his left wrist.

  “Have you had any alcohol today,” she asked.

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, looking directly into his eyes.

  “Nothing,” he repeated.

  “You need to get warmed up a bit. I want you to put Ray’s jacket on, and I’m going to get a space blanket from my boat.”

  They wrapped the reflective, plastic sheet around Ty and continued to give him hot coffee and another energy bar. The shivering went away, and he began to display more affect and a sense of humor.

  “Are you local?” asked Ray.

  “We live in T.C.”

  “And you go
to West?”

  “No, we’re both at Central.”

  “So how many kids are looking for Capone’s treasure?”

  “We’ve been kidding about it at lunch for a while,” explained Ty. “Win’s the only one who really believes it. And he’s the only one with a metal detector. Tell the man what you’ve found the last several years. Tell him about the beer cans and nails and that piece of chain.”

  “I did find a watch,” said Win.

  “Yeah, an old Timex.”

  Ray looked out at the lake. The waves were beginning to build. “We’ve got to start back, the wind’s come up.” Ray stood up and helped Win to his feet. “What’re your plans?”

  “We’re ready to go, too.”

  Ty started to unwrap the space blanket.

  “Keep it on,” said Hannah. “You’ll need it for the crossing.”

  “How do I get it back to you?”

  “Where did you launch from?”

  “The Cannery.”

  “Same as us,” said Ray. “There’s a green Subaru in the parking lot. Just leave it on the roof or hood. Do you have enough gas? I noticed that you weren’t carrying a fuel can.”

  Ray watched Win check the tank on the engine after they had dragged the boat down to the water’s edge.”

  “We should have enough,” said Win. “And we’ve got a paddle.” They pushed off, Ty sitting on the floor near the bow, Win in the rear, paddling the Zodiac into deeper water. He pulled the starter rope several times before the engine coughed to life, sputtering a cloud of white exhaust, then stalling. He started the engine a second time, and when it was idling smoothly, he engaged it in gear and with a backward wave, headed out into the Manitou Passage.

  “Let’s get going,” said Ray, “we may end up towing them to shore.”

  “So they were looking for Capone’s treasure,” said Hannah soon after they launched.

  “Yes,” said Ray, “they say the book is on Kindle and cheap. We’ll have a summer of shore diggers with smart phones. Petoskey stone hunting is a thing of the past, at least for this year.”

  The wind continued to pick up and they were pushed across the open water, their boats occasionally broaching from the following seas. There was little conversation, just a focus on their final destination. Hannah stopped yards off shore and waited for Ray to paddle near the side of her boat.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Hungry, exhausted, but I hate coming off the water. You?”

  “Same.”

  The boats felt heavy as they carried them from the beach, up over the dune, to the parking lot. The space blanket and jacket were wound around one of the kayak racks. A note was tucked under a windshield wiper.

  Hey Guys,

  Thanks for the help. I’ll remember you when I’m rich.

  Win

  Simone was waiting at the front door, a note of distress in her otherwise ebullient greeting. Hannah walked the dog while Ray changed his clothes and started supper, pulling a container of potato soup from the freezer, setting it into the microwave, and warming a baguette in the oven. By the time Hannah returned with Simone, Ray was putting the finishing touches on a salad of assorted greens with slices of avocado when Hannah walked in.

  “Thought you two might have gone missing,” he said.

  “Quality girl time. We understand one another. When’s dinner?”

  “Everything’s hot. The sooner the better.”

  “Can I eat in my fleece long johns?”

  “This ain’t the Ritz. No dress code.” He put down Simone’s dish of dog food, enhanced with some aged Vermont cheddar. Then he ladled up steaming bowls of soup.

  “One question,” said Hannah, before taking her first spoonful of soup. “How come you didn’t try to get more information on Ty and Win?”

  Ray smiled. “Win is Winifred Steward III. His father is a dentist in town, and his grandfather was a dentist in town. I recognized the boat. His father uses it for duck hunting.”

  22

  Mackenzie reached forward and turned the temperature up a bit in the shower. After several minutes of soaking up the warmth, she stepped out of the spray to examine the collection of soaps and shampoos provided by Ken Lee. She started with a shampoo, squeezing a palm full of the greenish liquid, and working it into her hair. There was no scent, just lather. Mackenzie carefully scrubbed her whole body with liquid soap the same bilious color, removing any trace of makeup and residual feminine scent from her usual toiletries. After rinsing away the last traces of soap, she dried herself with freshly laundered towels. She had washed her underwear and linen in detergent also sent by Ken Lee. He had emphasized that she should keep her gender a secret, be more male-like than feminine. He joked that if he could re-teach her how to walk, he could make her gender invisible.

  In panties and a flattening bra, Mackenzie settled into a chair in front of the bathroom mirror. She carefully applied greasepaint, again supplied by Ken Lee, to her face, neck, hands, and several inches above her wrists. This is crazy she said out loud, watching her mouth open and close in a face she barely recognized.

  There were times when Mackenzie thought Ken Lee was utterly wacko—much more than overly cautious, perhaps more than a little bit paranoid. The history he had shared with her passed through her mind like a series of black and white snapshots: growing up in Texas with a black mother and a Korean father, learning to be a scrapper before he even started kindergarten, escaping the poverty of his childhood by joining the military as soon as he was out of high school, eventually becoming a Navy Seal, and picking up a college degree along the way. Ken Lee’s military and college training coupled with his extraordinary facility with technology enabled him to get a high-paying job in corporate security.

  Combing her hair and securing it tightly in a knot at the back of her head, she thought about the List of Cautions Ken Lee had given her. She’d once teased him that they read like quotes from Chairman Mao mixed with Jay Gatsby’s plan for self-improvement. Today she was following the first item on his list: Always be more prepared than your potential adversary.

  Mackenzie went into the bedroom where she’d laid out her clothing, all black and still sealed in plastic bags. She pulled on a long-sleeved, skintight turtleneck shirt and black long underwear of the same material. She followed with loose-fitting outer pants that somewhat disguised her feminine form. She pulled on long, thick wool socks and black duty boots that Ken Lee had forced her to thoroughly break in before the trip to Michigan. Then she shrugged on body armor that ran from her shoulders to her waist. A bear claw knife, a small tactical flashlight, and a GPS-enabled satellite phone were already secured to the armor. Finally, she added a hip holster and a black balaclava, taking care to push back and under any wisps of hair. Before pulling on a black winter jacket, she holstered the two loaded and chambered pistols.

  Fully outfitted, she turned slowly in front of the three bathroom mirrors, and for a moment she felt silly. Then she remembered why she was in Michigan: the helplessness when she had been surrounded by the boy, the fear like poison, the knowledge that rape was imminent, and the rescue by her brother.

  Every aspect of the mission had been carefully planned. Mackenzie had laid out a detailed scenario, and then e-mailed it to Ken Lee. He had sent back a few suggestions that she had incorporated into her final “operations plan.” Ken Lee would monitor her progress back in California.

  Tonight was just a rehearsal: checking equipment and getting used to moving around in the dark. She had earlier found a place to park the car where it would go unnoticed. Using Google and geological survey maps, she had calculated the distance from the parking lot to the approximate position where her brother’s body had been found. A little more than 4 miles, it was a journey of an hour and 20 minutes in daylight on a solid surface. But she would be walking in darkness, a heavy overcast preventing any moonlight from breaking through. And she would be walking on sand, perhaps sprinting for the shelter of the woods if anyone approa
ched.

  Mackenzie pulled into the shadow of a large pickup truck at the far end of the unlit resort parking area. Earlier, she had deactivated the Subaru’s interior lights, so opening the door she moved from one area of darkness to another. She stood for several minutes listening carefully and allowing her eyes to adjust. Then she started out along the narrow road that ran down to Lake Michigan. Skirting the steel barrier at the end of the road, she climbed over a small dune and moved toward the shore.

  The trek along the beach in heavy boots proved to be more tiring than she had anticipated, but she was relieved that even without maps or GPS, her destination would be easy to find. The creek that emptied from Lost Lake was the only interruption on the shoreline for miles.

  Mackenzie looked at her watch when she arrived at the stream. She was running 10 minutes behind schedule. In the dull, watery light, she peered up and down the shore, then sloshed across the shallow stream and climbed the embankment. Catching a boot, she lost her balance, her outstretched hands bracing the fall. She brushed the sand off her hands and paused again to take in her surroundings. The area appeared to be a small burial plot. With increased caution, Mackenzie moved higher on the dune to get a view of the whole area. Used to the steady hum of an urban environment, she had been working on developing her awareness to the sounds and shapes of darkness. She stood for many minutes absorbing the scene. Her thoughts then shifted to her brother, wondering where he had died, and how he had died; wondering how his body had ended up on this strip of sand.

  Her attention was suddenly drawn to lights moving rapidly along the beach from the north. Three separate beams were quickly closing in on her position. Sliding back into a tamarack swamp at the edge of the dunes, she found cover behind the roots of several overturned trees.

  The drone of small, high-pitched engines increased, then abruptly stopped. She could hear voices. She stayed low and waited. The voices moved closer as flashlight beams swept the area, and then they moved away.