Jeff started to flush. Charlie saw his expression and howled. Which made Jeff even angrier with himself. “Now just a minute—"
"Don't try to hide anything from me. I can guess what you were doing, or attempting to do. You forget how, old buddy? Or maybe she's tired of you already?"
Turning hopefully toward the cabin, Charlie said loudly, “I'm a nice guy. So maybe I'll offer to take her back to my place before I return her to civilization for you. She might like to see my Indian carvings."
Jeff caught his arm. “You haven't got any carvings. Just put your dirty mind on hold, will you?"
Jeff had known Charlie since the first month Jeff arrived on the isle to stay. On an autumn night, when The Queen was at her most ornery, her engine had quit while she was still kilometers out on the lake.
Jeff had seen Charlie's distress light and gone in his rowboat to investigate. That blustery night was the beginning of a wonderful friendship, the closest one Jeff had ever experienced.
"Dirty mind?” Charlie complained, affronted. “Have you ever known anybody with a cleaner mind than me? Why, I'm more pure than you are! At least I get to exercise my fantasies once in awhile to cleanse my soul. But you haven't seen a woman in—"
"Cleansing your soul?” Jeff laughed. “Is that what Margaret calls it?"
"She left.” Charlie pulled off his other glove. He avoided Jeff's look of inquiry by squinting up at the cabin in the blaze of early sunlight. “And no, that wasn't what she called it."
"She left?” Jeff repeated.
"Yes. She went back to Duluth."
"I'm sorry..."
Charlie grinned. “Well ... it was fun while it lasted. I liked her, but—"
He lifted his shoulders in a life-goes-on shrug. Charlie was probably not the kind of a man Jeff would have befriended if he'd still been living in civilization. Charlie was a Gulf War veteran. He had quit the academy in his first year to fly combat missions in a war every other member of his family had vehemently protested.
Like many veterans returning from the most horrific experience of their lives, Charlie hadn't gotten his life back in order very quickly. He'd started to consume large and constant amounts of alcohol. And his endless battle with these beverages took him further down into the darkest personal depths than most others could ever imagine.
Finally landing on an island in the Great Lake, though, Charlie had finally bottomed out and began the long, slow process of pulling himself together. He'd quit alcohol and started to carve out a place in a community that was unconventional, perhaps, but way more comfortable for a man like him. He used his boat and his airplane to carry goods to other island-dwellers within a two hundred kilometer radius.
Like Jeff, Charlie had something to fear from civilization. But Charlie's worst nightmare started with the local beverages. He'd stayed sober, but Jeff knew he constantly worried about going back to drinking.
One night in the springtime, he'd come across the lake, supposedly to take Jeff some flour and fresh milk, but he'd quickly agreed to stay the night when Jeff offered. Clearly, he needed some companionship to help him through an especially tough period.
Over coffee at the fireside, he finally told Jeff about his past, about his trouble with drinking. Perhaps it was foolish, but Jeff had responded in kind. He'd told Charlie about the mess he'd made of his own life. Not all of the details, perhaps, but just enough so that Charlie had understood he was trusted. Jeff's confession had a dramatic effect on Charlie. It had scared the living daylights out of him.
He'd asked, “What if I get loaded and tell some one what you've just told me?"
"You won't,” Jeff said.
Charlie had looked frightened in the firelight—a big macho man gone all pale and trembling.
"But, dude, I might."
"No,” Jeff had told him. “You see, I trust you."
Charlie had turned away, and a moment later, put his face into his hands. He'd wept. In time, he'd pulled himself together.
"No one's said that to me in a long time. I won't betray you, I promise."
It had been a promise he'd kept. Charlie stayed away from alcohol. He admitted that a day didn't pass when he wondered if he'd make it without a drink. But so far, he'd managed. His life took a swing upward. He began to have relationships with other people besides Jeff.
Even women. His affairs were few and far between, simply because of his isolated location. But once in awhile, he found some desirable and willing woman to share his bed in the house he started to build across the channel. Margaret had been his latest female companion. She was a college archeology instructor, on a sabbatical, to study the Native American Indians of the Great Lakes region. Especially the Algonquian tribes, which had once populated the Lake Superior area. They called the water Gitchee Goomee, “Big Lake,” and still referred to it as such. The name of Michigan also came from their word Michigama, meaning “Great Lake.” Then there was the Indian legend of the Great Spirit accidentally tripping, and stopping his fall by holding out his left hand. That was how the Lower Peninsula of Michigan had been formed.
Charlie himself was half Ojibway (Chippewa), and very proud of his heritage. He had lived in the Upper Peninsula for most of his life. With his intimate knowledge of the lake and islands, Charlie had helped her locate some rare Algonquian artifacts, and they'd spent the winter cataloging their finds. Now, it seemed, Margaret had gone back to her school in Duluth, and the urban academic life.
"Is she going to write to you?” Jeff asked.
"Sure. We agreed to be friends. You know how it goes. She's got a husband at the college, a Scandihoovian dude she feels she may want to stay married to. I knew about him before we got started."
Jeff touched his shoulder. “You all right?"'
Charlie looked him in the eye and guessed what Jeff was asking. “Yes, I'm alright."
"I didn't mean if you were drinking. I only—"
"I know. Listen, it's no big deal. I'm a free man again, that's all. Which means, my friend, that I'll be happy to take the little lady off your hands now. She's obviously too much for you to handle."
"Shove it,” Jeff replied, and Charlie laughed.
He choked on his laughter the next minute, however, when he tilted his head back and saw Peggy on the balcony above them. She was leaning on her elbows, her small, mischievous face surrounded by the brown mop of her hair, which caught the morning rays and glinted with pinpoints of sunlight.
She had put on Jeff's shirt again, leaving most of it open. She wore nothing else, and her legs were bare from the uppermost parts down. The view from the dock below was enough to render Jeff suddenly weak in his knees. There was just the merest hint of her soft brown pubic hair visible from that angle. She smiled down at the two dumbstruck males.
"Hi, there,” she called down to them. “You must be Charlie."
Charlie murmured a Native American prayer, and shot Jeff a look of complete disbelief.
Then he lifted his face again. “Yes, ma'am. And who do I have the distinct pleasure of addressing this fine morning?"
Jeff groaned. “Charlie, this is Peggy. Peggy is her name. Peggy, this is my—my what? I hesitate to call him my friend at the moment while he's drooling on my shoes, but he's Charlie."
Peggy smiled some more. “Hi.” The soft vibration of laughter in her voice sent a shiver of pleasure up Jeff's spine.
"Wait right there,” Charlie said, obviously reacting to her voice the same way Jeff had. He started purposefully for the winding path. “I'm coming up to make sure you're for real."
Jeff grabbed his elbow. “She's for real, all right. You don't need to verify it."
"Oh ho,” Charlie said. He dropped his voice so his next words were only between the two of them. “Then there is something going on here? What have I interrupted, Jeff? You two playing mommy and daddy? She looks delicious. Just let me lick her neck, will you? Then I promise I'll..."
"Peggy,” Jeff called to her. “Why don't you run along for awhile? I'm going to throw thi
s jack off into the lake to cool him off. And I don't want you to hear the language he'll undoubtedly use."
Laughing, Peggy departed as she was told, heading for the bathhouse. She had a towel and her briefcase, so Jeff assumed she was heading to wash up.
"You're a spoilsport,” Charlie complained. “At least give me a cup of that coffee, will you? So, I can get a closer look at her? Oh, man, she's gorgeous! I might as well take a look at your ham radio, too while I'm here. Why don't we—"
"Checking my ham radio is the flimsiest excuse I ever heard of!"
"I'm not checking it, I'm fixing it. Didn't you know it was broken?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I've been trying to contact you since yesterday afternoon."
"What?"
"It's true,” Charlie insisted. “That's why I'm here so early. I came right over when you didn't answer again.” Then he grinned. “But it does make a convenient excuse, doesn't it?"
Resigned, Jeff took his friend up to the cabin. Charlie stripped off his jacket and left it slung over the balcony rail, and then the two went inside. Jeff headed for the coffeepot, and Charlie went straight over to the radio.
"Who is she, anyway?” he asked. “Females of that quality don't show up here every day. Where'd she come from? What's she doing?"
"You won't believe it,” Jeff said, busy in the kitchen. “She's a New York reporter. She writes newspaper stories about Broadway stage stars. Someone told her a dead musician was still alive. Jonny O'Dawg, remember him?"
"Yeah, his songs were just getting popular when I was fighting overseas. That was before he disappeared, or died."
"Well, she heard he was hiding up here. So, she came looking. Somebody in town gave her the impression that I was him."
"Somebody in the village?"
"Yes, crazy, right?"
"I don't know.” Charlie was already prying the radio apart with his military knife. “Those delinquents who broke in here last year, maybe?"
"Who knows? It's just a rumor. Anyway, the weather got bad. So, she was stuck here. I was going to bring her over to your place last night, but she ... we had a mishap in the lake."
"What kind of mishap?"
"She got scared swimming, came close to shock. So, I kept her here another night to keep an eye on her."
"Both eyes!” said Charlie. But then he said, “Hmmm..."
Jeff finished measuring coffee and set the pot on the stove. Then, he came around the counter and approached Charlie as he tinkered with the radio. “What's that supposed to mean?"
Charlie put down his knife and reached into the wiring with his fingers. “Doesn't mean anything."
"Like hell it doesn't."
Silent, Charlie held up a length of wire and a small plastic plug.
"What's that?"
"What's it look like? No, forget I asked. You may be anyone's gift to the biochemical world, but you're a total goof when it comes to electronics. Trust me, it's important stuff. Your equipment's been disconnected."
"What?!"
"You heard me, dude. And things like this don't come apart without some help, either.” Charlie looked at Jeff steadily. “You pull the plug?"
"Of course not.” Jeff struggled with the wave of disbelief. “Why would I shut off the radio?"
Charlie shrugged. “Some super horny bastards always take the radiophone off reception mode when they don't want to be disturbed in the bedroom—"
"Stop the stupid talk!"
"Somebody disconnected your communications."
"That's impossible!"
"This particular wire was pulled so that the lights would still work, but you wouldn't notice the sound was off. Smart job, if you ask me. You didn't do it, though. So, who did?"
Jeff stared at the evidence Charlie dangled before his eyes. “I don't—I don't know."
"Your lady friend? You say she's a New York reporter?"
Jeff tried to think, tried to imagine Peggy doing such a thing. When had she done it? More importantly, why? His head had been in turmoil just minutes earlier. Turmoil caused by the sweet sound of her cries, the supple twisting of her body beneath his own. Her shyness was erotic, her innocence an incredible turn-on for him. Had it all been deliberate?
"Yes.” He tried to marshal his thoughts. “She's a reporter."
"And she's looking for a dead singer? You're sure?"
Angry, Jeff snapped. “Who would make up a story that stupidly ridiculous if it wasn't true?"
Charlie folded his arms, his face bland. “Someone who was on the trail of a bigger story, I'd say. How much does she know about you, Jeff? You tell her everything that you've told me?"
"No,” Jeff said slowly. “Not everything."
Charlie swore. “How much did you tell her? About your father, for instance?"
"No, but—"
"She get you into bed to talk? She wants to know about the chemicals you stole?” Charlie grabbed Jeff's shoulder and shook it. “Damn it, dude! How much does she know?!"
* * * *
Peggy brushed her teeth and dressed herself. Her trousers and thong panties had dried by the fire during the night, and she was glad to get into them. The only thing that would make her happier would be Jeff slowly taking her out of them again. She was still trembling inside. She hoped he would get rid of Charlie quickly.
With her briefcase over her shoulder, she headed for the cabin to join the men. But she happened to glance down at the dock in time to see a small boat sliding in. Sitting in the stern was the boy from the village. He waved.
"Hi, lady! Remember me?"
Peggy dropped her briefcase, and raced down to the dock to shut him up before he announced his arrival to Jeff.
"Shhh! What do you think you're doing here?"
The kid looked astonished.
"Well, I came to get you. Don't you remember? I'm the one who brought you here before the storm. I—"
"I know who you are! Go away, will you?"
"But-but-I thought—"
"Look, you, don't waste your brain cells. I don't want to be rescued, get it? I've changed my mind. I'm going to stay here for a while. So, get yourself back to—"
"You want to stay here, New York lady? With this fellow?"
"Keep your voice down!” Peggy hissed. “You want him to hear you? Scram!"
His eyes popped open. “Is he keeping you prisoner?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake! Just go, will you? He'll be out in a minute!"
"I have heard that he's dangerous, ma'am. My older brother and his friends used to come up here for parties with some girls, you know? Only, Jeff chased them away. He's got a shotgun and wild dogs and—why, my brother got hurt on his—"
Peggy controlled her urge to scream. She snatched up a rock and reared back as if to hurl it at the kid. “Will you shut up? Jeff is not dangerous. Tell your stupid brother to take his damn sluts somewhere else! Now, get out of here, will you? I—no, wait!"
The youth nearly dropped his paddle, but he stopped trying to splash his way out of her rock-throwing range. “Yeah?"
Peggy was thinking fast. Things had changed. She wasn't sure why, but suddenly she wasn't thinking of herself anymore. Nor about the story that she had been so hungry for just a few hours earlier. No, now she had another cause in mind. Possibly, there was something she could do for Jeff.
She looked at the boy. “Could you take a letter for me?"
"Huh?"
"If I write a letter, would you take it to the nearest post office for me? I'd pay you. I'll make it worth your while."
The boy said, “I live right beside the town post office."
"Wonderful,” Peggy breathed. “Wait right here."
She ran back up the path and grabbed her briefcase. Inside, she found her notebook and a pen. She scribbled a quick note to her part-time assistant, a young woman who also freelanced in the library department at the Times newspaper.
Sharon:
Need info on a Jeff Redmond.
Top secret.
Reply ASAP care of the Bayfield P.O.
—Peggy
Maybe there was something Sharon could look up that could help Jeff's situation. She laughed once and shook her head.
It was true that she was curious, and there was no telling when Jeff would say anything more. But she was certain that she'd be able to help him once she got things figured out. And she simply couldn't just sit around twiddling her thumbs until he opened up.
She had to do something. For once, here she was, doing something noble. And for someone else besides herself.
She folded the note and crammed it into the only envelope she had left in the briefcase. She had some money in the case, but not enough to pay for express delivery and buy the kid's services, too. Her wallet was in her jacket pocket in the cabin.
She started up the path toward the porch, but stopped on the cabin steps, realizing she'd have to alert Jeff to the boy's arrival if she went inside. Crouched beneath a window, she could hear Jeff and Charlie talking inside. And she didn't want Jeff to know that she had yet another offer of transportation back to the mainland. Then, her eyes fell upon Charlie's jacket left on the balcony railing.
"Perfect,” she whispered. “Now, let's hope Charlie brought some spending money."
She sneaked onto the porch and lifted the jacket. Silently, she rifled the pockets. All was fair, if she got what she wanted. That had always been Peggy's motto. Triumph! He kept a leather billfold in the inside pocket, and Peggy found a ten dollar bill and a couple of singles. But something stopped her.
"Good Lord,” she muttered. “What's wrong with me?"
She stared at the wallet for a moment, then noticed something tucked between the dollar bills. With thumb and forefinger, Peggy lifted out the object. It was a neatly carved little item, used for Native American magical purposes.
With a grin, Peggy tucked it into her trouser pocket. She couldn't take the money, but this was another matter altogether. She put the wallet back and left the jacket exactly the way she'd found it, then hurried back to the boy. “Will you take this bracelet?"
"Huh?” The boy looked disgusted. “A bracelet? What for?"
"It's all I've got at the moment. Look, it's a nice bracelet. I love it dearly. My sister gave it to me. I want it back, of course. You keep it until I see you again. Then, I promise that I'll pay you double what everything costs you."
Isle of Intrigue Page 9
