Envy the Night (17 page)

“I think there should always be two people in this shop, Jerry. Until the car’s gone, we should both be here.”

He lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbed above his eyes like an exhausted man with many miles ahead. “I leave you here on your own last night for all that shit to happen, and now you want to stay around for me. Want to keep
me
safe.”

It wasn’t a complaint; he was more musing to himself than talking to her.

“I just think it would be safest for both of us.”

“I got something to tell you, Nora.” He looked anguished. “And I want you to understand this first—I didn’t know nothing about this car or what had happened to you at the time, okay? I mean, shit, if I’d known what happened . . .”

“Jerry, what are you talking about?”

He lowered his hand and walked past her, to his locker. Pulled it open and reached inside and withdrew a small plastic box. Even when he passed it to her and she held it in her own hands she had no idea what it was.

“It’s a tracking device, Nora. Sends out a signal, and if you got the receiver you can follow it along.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “It was on that car. I pulled it off the bumper reinforcement yesterday.”

She ran her fingertips over the smooth plastic. This was the secret. This little thing was the source of the chaos. It had brought those bastards into her life.

“You found this yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Nora. I just . . . I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t thinking, that’s all.”

“Okay.” Perhaps she should have been furious, screaming at him right now, blaming him. Instead, all she felt was confusion. Was this discovery good or bad? Would the device help her, or was it an increased risk just to hold it in her hand?

“I’m sorry,” Jerry said again.

“It’s all right. You’re telling me now. That’s what counts.”

“Hang on,” Jerry said. “There’s more.”

__________

F
rank had no intention of watching the Matteson island—no conscious intention anyhow. When he got the boat in the water and the motor fastened onto the transom, his only thought was of taking a ride, seeing the lake again.

He made it all of five minutes with that as the morning’s lone goal. Out of the little bay and around the sandbar—the lake was still high enough that he probably could have gone right over the top of the bar, but old habits guided him around it—and then, just after he hit the main body of the lake, he opened up the throttle and pointed toward the Four Islands. Past them and around the point, out into the more desolate stretches of the lake, was the Matteson place. He had to see it. Just a look.

It was twenty minutes with the little outboard running at full throttle before the island came into view. There were so many islands out here that it could get confusing; half of them looked like the shore from a distance, and then you’d be around them and into a bay that looked big enough to be the main portion of the lake and suddenly you were damn lost.

Toward the northernmost reaches of the Willow the lake became more desolate, and tucked into the eastern shore was an area called Slaughterhouse Bay, so named because of the liberal collection of stumps and dead trees that protruded out of the water and could easily and swiftly ruin a boat. Navigating
among the dozens of stumps, even at slow speeds, was treacherous, and though Frank and his father had always assumed it would be a treasure trove of pike and perhaps bass, they’d never taken a good fish out of the bay. It was an eerie spot, particularly at dusk, when the partially submerged trees blended with long shadows and made the place look almost like a Florida swamp.

Skirting the bay and its stumps by several hundred yards, Frank crossed Slaughterhouse Point, approaching the headwaters where the Tomahawk River fed the flowage. Between Slaughterhouse Point on the south side and Muskie Point on the north, lying offshore of hundreds of acres of unbroken forest, he found the Matteson island. After a seven-year absence, maybe it should have been difficult to locate, but he didn’t have any trouble. The place was burned deep in his memory.

Although there were dozens of good-sized islands on the flowage, few would have been hospitable to development even if not state owned. The waters in the flowage fluctuated too much; in a low-rain year the lake was responsible for feeding much of the Wisconsin River valley, and the dam would be opened to the point that the lake level would dip as much as much ten feet below the norm. A high-rain year, they’d close the dams up and the lake would rise dramatically, creating an ever-changing landscape that turned islands into mainland one summer and partially submerged them the next spring. The Matteson place was an exception due both to the high bluffs that bordered it and its placement in the middle of the lake. The water would never reach the ground level upon which the cabin was built, and any major recession simply expanded the beach below the bluffs.

He passed the island on the west side, keeping about a hundred feet out, saw the roof of the cabin and two of the
no trespassing
signs, then circled and was ready to head back when he saw the woman.

She was walking out into the lake, waist deep now, testing the footing and moving slowly. What in the world was she thinking, going for a swim in this lake in April? Even though the air temperature was unseasonably warm, at least ten degrees above normal, the water would be frigid. She didn’t seem concerned, though.

Frank didn’t react to the sight of her, didn’t slow or cut the motor or do anything else that would make a clear show of his interest. Instead, he turned his head and stared straight out over the bow and gave the throttle an extra twist, picking up speed. He took the boat out into the lake, angled away from the island. The day had risen clear and beautiful, the breeze warming as the
sun rode higher, everything reminding him of a number of days spent on this water with his father. He’d been ready for the memories today, but now they were sinking away, pushed down by that woman in the water.

She was a beautiful woman. Even from fifty yards out, he’d seen that. Tall and elegant, and from the short look he’d gotten at her body, it probably seemed more suspicious that he had
not
slowed the boat to stare. She would be used to stares.

Dave O’Connor, or Vaughn, or whoever the hell the gray-haired man really was, did not seem a match for that woman. He was such a strange-looking man, so nervous and awkward. On the other hand, he drove a Lexus and had thousands in cash on him, along with a gun. Maybe she was the sort who was attracted to money or danger.

That was another problem with Vaughn, though. He didn’t seem like a dangerous guy. Even with the gun, even with the duo that had shown up on his heels, he didn’t fit the mold. Those guys at the body shop yesterday had been a different story. Vaughn didn’t seem anything like them or like other dangerous men Frank had known. Didn’t seem anything like his father.

There he was, though, sitting in Devin Matteson’s cabin with a woman who could turn heads from across the lake, two gun-toting badasses in pursuit. Nothing about that scenario felt right to Frank. Not after the time he’d spent with Vaughn yesterday.

He brought the boat around in a circle and ran back across the lake, a little farther out this time. She was leaving the water, and he could see another figure on shore. The distance was too great for a definite identification, but he assumed it was Vaughn.

Down maybe three hundred yards to an osprey nest, then back around for another pass, watching that island. This time he couldn’t see anyone on the beach. They’d gone inside, maybe. Or he’d spooked them. In retrospect, this was a pretty stupid approach; if he wanted to watch them, he should just anchor somewhere and
watch
them, the way Ezra had yesterday. These continued passes were more likely to attract attention. His father would have pitched him overboard if he’d been here to witness it.

Enough with the half-assed surveillance attempt. They were gone, and he’d already made one pass too many. Better to continue on, leave those two to their own affairs and hope his didn’t coincide with them again. Nora Stafford had left his cabin with a measure of uncertainty, but he suspected what she planned to do now was simply get that Lexus off her property and leave the
Mitsubishi in the woods. As he’d told her, there was a good chance it would still be there long after Vaughn left. If not, he’d pay for the rusted old heap himself. It was a better option than calling the police out to the Matteson place and attempting to repossess the vehicle. The less interaction Nora had with Devin Matteson’s associates, the better.

He found himself alone in North Bay, no other boat in sight, and cut the motor. The flowage would never seem busy, but during fishing season there would be plenty of other people out and about. Today, though, it was empty.

The sun was unhindered by cloud, and he pulled his shirt off so he could feel it on his skin, take in this moment and this place. They’d caught a lot of fish out here, shared a lot of laughs.

A harsh ringing spoiled the silent day then, sounding louder on the water than it ever would back on land. He couldn’t believe he got cell phone reception out here. That damn tower that had irked his father so much was doing its job. He took the phone out, saw the same number he’d dialed the previous night to leave his message for Nora. She was back at her body shop.

“Hello?”

Static and garbled words, Frank catching no meaning at all. He took the phone away from his ear, looked at the display again. Still connected, but showing just one bar, a weak signal. Okay, maybe the tower really wasn’t anything but an eyesore. He tried again.

“Nora? I can’t hear you. Nora?”

More garbled words, but this time he caught a few. Something about a tracking device. Fighting a surge of frustration, he asked her to slow down and repeat herself. Instead, the call was disconnected. Perfect.

He sat down in the boat and looked out across the water, then sighed and turned back to the motor, adjusted the choke and pulled the cord, brought it thundering to life. He didn’t have a clue what that call had been about, and until he did, anything pleasant about this morning was ruined. He’d go back to the cabin, call Nora, see what the hell was going on.

“Damn it.” Nora smacked the phone with her palm, turned it back on, tried again. This time it didn’t even ring, just rolled over to a message saying the mobile user was unavailable. She wondered if he’d caught any of what she said. No way to know. Okay, what now? She wasn’t ready to go the police with
Jerry’s story, not until she’d had a chance to run all of this by Frank, hear his opinion. He knew more about these guys than she did. It would be great if she could get him to come into town, talk things through, but Frank’s source of transportation was sitting in the back of her tow lot, so he wouldn’t be making any more surprise appearances. It was a long drive out to his cabin, but she didn’t know what else to do.

“Jerry.” She walked out of the office and into the shop. He was standing over his toolbox, next to the Spraybake paint booth. Outside the day had to be warming, because it was growing stuffy in here despite the concrete block walls and corrugated metal ceiling that usually helped keep it cool.

“Yeah?” Jerry had kept his eyes away from hers ever since he’d told her about the man named AJ, and now he stared at the floor.

“I’m going to get Frank and bring him down here.”

“He the kid?”

“Yes.” Didn’t seem like any kid to her, but if that’s how Jerry recognized him, fine. “I want him to be down here when we talk to the police. Like I said, he’s got some ideas that they need to hear.”

Jerry frowned and spun a ratchet in his hand, the whirring clicks loud in the quiet room. “What sort of ideas has he got?”

“He thinks he might know something about who these guys are, and who they work with.”

“How?”

She lifted her hands. “I don’t know, Jerry. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. He also claims to know where the guy who drove that Lexus is staying. And now I’ve got to leave and pick him up so we can talk to the police.”

“All right. I’ll get this car put back together as much as I can, so they can tow it.”

“I’d rather you don’t.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I don’t want anyone left alone in the shop.” She tried to put proper concern into her voice, but only a portion of it was for Jerry’s well-being.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Jerry, I’d really prefer—”

“You don’t think you can trust me.” He straightened and looked at her for the first time, defiant. “That’s what’s going on, isn’t it? Before I told you about the deal that guy cut me at the bar, you were ready to leave me here, go down to see Mowery. Told me that we needed this Lexus back in one piece fast, for the cops. Now why has that changed?”

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then his face softened and his shoulders sagged.

“I’m
sorry
, Nora. You don’t even know. I can see where you wouldn’t think real well of me right now. You and I, we’ve had our problems. But I’ll tell you this—ain’t a man in this world I respect more than your daddy. Not a one. And the reason I’m still here is I know it’s what he’d want me to do. Help you out, keep things running till he gets back on his feet. It’s not just about the shop, it’s about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay, too. Always did. So when you tell me about last night . . . about these bastards walking in here and treating you like that . . . maybe you don’t see how personal that is to me. Okay? And all I can say is, I’m sorry.”

Though Jerry asked about Bud’s condition constantly, Nora had never been entirely honest with him in her reports. One reason was that her father had absolutely no memory of Jerry, and she knew that would hurt him. Now she wished he
could
remember Jerry. Bud would have liked this story.

“I appreciate everything you just said, Jerry. And I know I haven’t been a real easy transition for you. Let’s not worry about it, okay? You get the Lexus put back together, and I’ll bring Frank Temple down, and then the three of us will talk things out and call the police.”