Dark Waters (7 page)

CHAPTER NINE

P
OSTED BY THE
Lady to the
Lady of the Lakes
blog:

Those of you who were there know what I’m talking about. The big ground-breaking ceremony for the new community center was hijacked by one fine piece of manhood who came out of the lake in a temper and very little else. The Lady isn’t sure about his claims regarding the plot of land, but she does agree that he can protest anywhere he wants to.

Does anyone have any good pictures to share?

THE STORY OF
Kyle Stillwater’s startling appearance at the park was on the front page of the Sunday
Capital Journal
and was the lead on the three local TV stations. Missing from them all, though, was any picture of the man himself. Owners of every electronic recording device—digital still cameras, video cameras, or cellphones—found that any images were hopelessly corrupted.

Even Julie Schutes, who had checked her photos right after she took them, had found them pixilated beyond any possible use once she returned to her office. Only one picture—a distant one that showed Stillwater as a mere silhouette standing in the lake and taken from her stall by a seller of hemp products—survived.

Most interesting were the photographs taken on actual film by a couple of camera buffs. In these, Stillwater’s features were both blurry and distorted: His eyes were round and black, his nose and chin elongated, and his mouth a death’s-head grimace.

These photos did not run in the papers, and the photographers were unable to scan them and post them online. When they tried, the hardware and software refused to cooperate.

The newspaper’s staff researcher did find the photograph of a local actor known as Kyle Stillwater—a one-quarter Ho-Chunk Native American who’d done some modeling and commercial work. He resembled the man who’d crashed the ceremony, except that he was ten years too young and his hair was jet-black. And when shown his picture, all the women who’d been at the park that day were absolutely certain it wasn’t the same man, because this mundane Kyle Stillwater just didn’t affect them the same way. At all. It
couldn’t
be him.

No one could reach the actor for comment. His agent in Chicago said he would pass along any media requests but could assure the authorities that his client had no paying jobs at the moment.

———

WHEN ETHAN WALKER
got to work Monday morning, Garrett Bloom was already there, pacing in front of Ambika’s desk. Her expression indicated just how long that had been going on. “I thought you got here at ten,” Bloom snapped without preliminaries.

Ethan clenched his teeth in annoyance; he didn’t like being scolded, let alone in his own office before he’d had his coffee. He glanced at the clock. “It’s five after.”

“That’s still late.”

“Since I’m the boss, no one usually complains about my punctuality.”

“On most days,” Ambika muttered.

Bloom scowled at her, then said urgently, “I have to talk to you in private.
Now
. It’s important.”

“Okay. Ambika, hold all my calls until Mr. Bloom and I are finished.”

“Of course, sir,” she said coolly.

Bloom barely waited for the inner door to close behind them before he said, “You’ve got to start doing the serious construction
now
. Today, if at all possible. Bring in a crane, knock down some walls, that sort of thing. Stuff people can
see
.”

“Why is that?”

“Momentum, son. A body at rest tends to remain that way, but one that’s moving is hard to stop.”

“That’s ‘inertia,’ not ‘momentum.’ ”

“Well, whatever it is, we need it.”

“Because of what happened at the ceremony?”

“
Yes!
” Bloom exclaimed as if it was the dumbest question in the world. “It has nothing to do with whether or not he’s right, or legitimate, or anything. He’s drawn attention, and that’s what’s important. I expect a half-dozen Native American activists in my office before the day’s over.”

“Isn’t that what James Red Bird is supposed to handle?”

“Jim is a good man, and loyal, but he’s a behind-the-scenes worker. This has changed the whole game plan.”

“Why?”

“Because even if that lunatic was right, it’s immaterial, because it can’t be proved without a full-on archaeological dig that could take months, even years.”

Ethan hoped his sinking dread didn’t show. “That’s true.”

“But there’s no
evidence
, Ethan, and I’m certain no elected official in his right mind would shut down something that provided jobs for hardworking Americans. In this economy, jobs outweigh history.”

“Except to stray Native Americans.”

“Exactly!” Bloom almost shouted, missing Ethan’s irony entirely. “That’s why we need to get the ball rolling.”

Ethan thought hard before speaking. “The soonest I can do what you’re asking is next week.”

“Next
week
?”

“Yes. And you’ll have a hard time finding anyone else who could do it faster—and frankly, I wouldn’t trust anyone who said they could.”

Bloom thought for a moment. “Then that’s the best you can do?”

“It’s the best
anyone
can do,” Ethan said firmly. “I promise, a week from today there will be a procession of very visible big trucks carrying debris while we gut the building. And then we’ll very publicly knock it down.”

Now it was Bloom’s turn to ponder. “All right, then. If that’s the best that can be done, that’s what we’ll do. Thanks, Ethan. I’m sorry this has all gone to hell this way.”

When Bloom departed, Ambika came in, crossed her arms, and said, “He is
not
a nice man. Before you arrived, he stepped out in the stairwell to make a phone call. His voice was very loud. He called someone a ‘dumb Indian.’ For a moment I thought he was referring to me, but it was the person on the other end of the phone. I do hope he won’t be a frequent visitor.”

Ethan assured her he wouldn’t—and then, when Ambika had returned to her desk, he dialed up the State Archaeological Commission office. He had a friend on staff there and knew he could get straight information.

“Yeah, I saw that on the news,” Lannie Boyd said when Ethan reached him. “They didn’t have a picture of the guy, though. I was curious to see if he was someone I knew.”

“Is that likely?”

“I cross paths with a lot of so-called activists. Some are legitimately concerned with tribal dignity, and some are just out to see their names in the papers.”

“So his claim
could
be legitimate?”

“As a matter of fact, I did some proactive checking on that very thing, just so I’d know where to find the information in case anyone needed it.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing. When that old mental hospital was originally put up, a standard survey revealed no trace of former Native American habitation on that patch of land. Of course, they called them American Indians then, but you know what I mean. It was classified ‘clean and pristine,’ as we say unofficially.”

“So I have nothing to worry about?”

“We have better technology now, and I’m sure if you dug down far enough and sifted every square inch of dirt, you’d find some trace of human activity. These lakes have been around for a long time, after all. But those guys back then knew their stuff, even without computers and DNA analysis, so until there’s hard evidence to the contrary, I’m inclined to think they got it right.”

“That’s not just you sticking up for your profession, is it?”

“Maybe a little. But if there was serious doubt, we’d get out there and look around. Fieldwork is fun.”

Ethan tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’m supposed to start tearing down the building next week, Lannie. I really don’t want to get blindsided.”

“I can understand that. If you like, I can come over and check it out, unofficially officially, if you know what I mean.”

“That’d make me sleep better,” Ethan said.

“I thought that’s what that blond reporter was for.”

Ethan felt his cheeks burn. “Ah. She’s old news.”

“Really?” Lannie said with mock interest. “So she’s on the market?”

“She’d eat you alive, Lannie.”

“A man’s got to die of something.”

After the call, Ethan retrieved the survey maps of the lakefront and studied them. How exactly had Bloom gotten title to such a prime piece of real estate? For that matter, why had it lain undeveloped for so long in the first place? Lakeside property in Madison was in sky-high demand.

He scanned the lakeshore to either side of the parcel. There were effigy mounds in three nearby city parks, but they made no pattern implying one might have originally been located at the hospital site. Still, if Stillwater was part of some fringe group—and God knows Madison had plenty of those—his performance might be the start of something darker and more dangerous. People with environmental blinders on thought nothing of doing things that resulted in human injuries or death.

He gazed out the window at the capitol dome and went over his options, but he knew there was only one real choice. And he’d made it when he shook hands with Bloom.

IN HIS OWN
office on the west end of the isthmus near the university hospital, Garrett Bloom continued to pace. It was his preferred mode of thinking. He’d worn the carpet in a circuit from his desk around the guest chair, to the door, and back. “Maybe it’s Seth Golfine,” he said at last.

“No,” Rebecca Matre said. She sat on the edge of the desk, legs crossed below a tight skirt. She knew he frequently checked out her legs, and she liked it. Then again, he checked out every woman’s legs. “If he was against it,” she continued, “he’d do it in public. Remember the hissy fit he threw when you wanted that homeless rapist released on bail?”

“Homeless
accused
rapist,” Bloom corrected. “And that scene at the lake was pretty fucking public.”

“But
he
wasn’t there. He’s too much of a media whore to let someone else take the spotlight.” She smiled. “And personally, I’d just as soon never see him walk around in a loincloth.”

Bloom barked a laugh at the image. “You’re definitely right about that.” He paced some more, then snapped his fingers. “Maybe it’s Asshole Anspach.”

“And why would
he
do it?” Becky asked wearily. They’d spent the morning this way, as Bloom went down his list of enemies, trying to figure out who might be behind the ceremony’s disruption. It was a long list, and Becky was already exhausted. But so far they’d identified no one who seemed likely to concoct such a bizarre stunt.

“Why would he do it?” Bloom repeated. “To make me look bad, that’s why. To get revenge for all those times I’ve pushed things past him to get them approved by the full city council.”

“It seems out of character for him. He’s more the slash-your-tires-in-the-parking-lot type.”

“Ah, you’re right. It’s silly. Still …” He stopped at the window and looked out at traffic on University Boulevard. “It looks like the only way to find the brain behind it is to find the body first. We have to locate that guy—the one who came out of the lake.”

“Kyle Stillwater?” Just saying the name sent an intimate flutter through Becky. She’d been awake a good part of the night fantasizing about him. It was out of character for her; Becky just didn’t lust after good-looking men like that. She preferred men of substance, with brains and goals and power. Like Garrett Bloom. But her body had certainly pursued its own ideas, leaving her with no choice but to indulge them. Her cheeks reddened at the memory.

Bloom was too preoccupied to notice. “That’s not his real name, I’m sure. ‘Stillwater’? Give me a break. But just to be safe, can you do some of that Internet hoodoo that you do so well? See if you can find out anything about him?”

“I already started,” Becky said. “There’s a local actor, a Native American, by the same name and who vaguely resembles the man we saw. I Photoshopped white hair on him, though, and it just wasn’t him. I’ll keep looking, though.”

As she stood, she bumped into Bloom during one of his circuits, and he caught her awkwardly in his arms. Their faces were inches apart.

Becky gasped with delight. She enjoyed the way his hands felt through her blouse, their long fingers promising nimble foreplay. His left palm rested over the clasp to her bra, and she wondered if he could undo it one-handed. She felt his body against hers, lean and hard from regular exercise.

She looked into his eyes.
Kiss me
, she thought desperately, wishing she was telepathic.
Bend me over your desk, or push me to my knees before you. It’s all right, I’ll do anything you want. Anything
.

“Anything,” she said, sighing.

He leaned close. His breath was minty. Then he released her. “Sorry, Becky, I should’ve watched where I was walking. Let me know if you find out anything.”

Then he sat back behind his desk and pulled up something she couldn’t see on his computer. Her skin tingled where he’d touched her through her clothes, and she seriously considered throwing herself across his desk and begging him to have his way with her. He was everything she admired: strong, committed to a cause, and mature. She wanted to be his lover, his student, his slave.

But she said, “No problem,” and went back to her own desk outside his office. She closed the door behind her, knowing he preferred privacy.

CHAPTER TEN

O
N TUESDAY MORNING
, Rachel’s diner was as busy as ever. Rachel, Helena, and Clara waited on the customers. Clara, dressed in tight shorts and a push-up bra, was a hit among the young men, and even old Professor Denning let his eyes follow her a couple of times.

Marty Walker sat at his usual counter stool, immune to the perky breasts repeatedly passing by. He wore his lightweight summer suit, which did nothing to hide the bulge of the gun beneath his left arm. When Rachel brought him a coffee refill he asked, “So how’s the tattoo removal going?”

“Surprisingly well,” she said with no irony. “I think I’ll be done early, in fact.”

“I have a friend on the force who had to get his ex-wife’s name taken off his arm. He said it was the second-worst pain he’s ever felt.”

“What was the worst?”

“Marrying her in the first place.”

They laughed, and Rachel tried to make the next sentence sound as casual as possible. “Oh, by the way, I ran into your brother over the weekend. Literally, in fact. At the ground-breaking for the new community center.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that.”

Her blush hit before she could do anything to stop it. “He told you about it?”

“No, I mean I heard about what happened at the park when Aquaman came out of the water.”

Rachel’s blush deepened. “Oh. Of course. Yes, it was quite a show.”
Just walk away
, she told herself, but her feet stayed resolutely put. “Ethan looked well,” she prompted.

Marty shrugged. “He’s healthy.”

Don’t do it
, her common sense warned. But she said, “And I saw his girlfriend, too.”

Marty frowned. “Girlfriend?”

“Julie. The reporter.”

Marty laughed. “No, they’re not back together. She’s chasing, but he’s on full evasive maneuvers. He knows better than to get caught up in
that
drama again.”

Her knees grew weak at the rush of relief. “Really?”

He reached across the counter, took her hand, and said gently, “Rachel, you asked him to stay away, and he
will
until you tell him not to. He gave his word, and that’s the most important thing he has. It’s stubborn and ridiculous and old-fashioned, but that’s what he’s like.”

“I know,” she murmured, like a child caught in a fib.

Marty released her. “And I know he’d love to hear from you. I know it the same way I know the sun comes up in the morning. But one of you has to make the first move here.”

“I know,” she repeated, and rushed away to take another order as fast as decorum allowed.

MARTY CAUGHT HELENA’S
eye across the room. The two of them had conspired to bring Ethan and Rachel together in the first place. Now they were working desperately, if delicately, to get them to at least talk to each other.

Helena shrugged. Marty nodded.

IN HIS EFFICIENCY
apartment on the city’s north side, Kyle Stillwater winced as he opened his eyes. He lay atop the covers on his bed, in nothing but his white briefs. The hangover rattling through his brain was the worst he could remember. As he stared up at the ceiling, he heard a fly buzzing against the window glass and Spanish-speaking children playing outside.

He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and sat up. What the hell had happened to him? His last clear memory was of swimming in Lake Wingra. He certainly hadn’t been drunk then. In fact, he hadn’t been drunk in six years—no mean feat with the alcoholism in his family. He fumbled for the remote on the nightstand and turned on the TV.

The smug weatherman said, “The forecast for today, Tuesday, is sunny and hot, with a slight chance of—”

Kyle sat up straight, his head suddenly clear.
Tuesday? What happened to Saturday? Or Sunday? Or Monday?

He tried to stand, but his head swam as soon as he did, and he landed back on the bed. His stomach churned with nausea and panic. He crawled to the bathroom and vomited, then lay curled on the floor for a long time, too sick to even flush. He tugged a lock of his black hair over his eyes. At last he rose to pull the handle and glanced into the bowl.

He froze.

The contents of his stomach looked like lake water, algae, and silt. There was even a dead fish floating on top.

He vomited again and passed out.

WHEN THE BREAKFAST
rush ended, the diner settled into the slow, comfortable space before lunch. The summer sun blasted through the windows and off the white walls made of dry-erase board. In addition to the day’s menu, some of the panels sported elaborate customer artwork, including some leftover “Welcome back, Rachel” messages that hadn’t yet been wiped away.

Helena’s shift had ended at ten-thirty. Clara was the only other waitress on duty, and she was clearly exhausted. She went into the kitchen and wiped her neck with a wet paper towel. “I thought,” she said, “that the summers weren’t as hot in the north.”

“No, they’re not as long,” Rachel said. “They’re plenty hot. And we have wonderful humidity.”

“I’ll say. I used to spend my summers doing volunteer work on an elephant sanctuary in Tennessee, and this reminds me of that. Without the smell of elephant manure, of course.”

“They have an elephant sanctuary in Tennessee?”

Clara nodded. “For abused zoo and circus elephants. They have all this acreage to roam on however they want. People can’t come and stare at them, either.”

“Sounds pretty freaky,” Jimmy the cook said. He scraped leavings from the griddle and dumped them in the garbage. “I wouldn’t mind wandering around on a big nature preserve. Seems kind of wrong that elephants get to do that and people don’t.”

“The elephants only get to do it because of the way people have treated them,” Clara pointed out.

“Yeah, well, some people have treated me pretty badly, too,” Jimmy mumbled.

Rachel’s eyes fell on Jimmy’s lean forearm. The muscles rippled beneath his skin, and Rachel suddenly recalled in uncomfortable detail the muscles across Kyle Stillwater’s back. He’d passed so close on that first day that she’d felt the heat from his body, every muscle hard and perfect. It was a memory that had replayed itself endlessly in her mind and dreams, especially since she’d glimpsed the man at the park. Had it
really
been him?

Yet her reaction was not entirely one of lust, although that was definitely a component. It was, instead, a kind of cruel fascination, reminding her that twice she’d missed the chance to touch him. And it made no sense, since she was still fully and desperately in love with Ethan Walker.

But it was no longer images of Ethan that filled her head in the darkness. For the past two nights, she’d writhed in a tangle of damp sheets, alternately frenzied and lethargic. She felt taunted by her own body and the powers that possessed it, but sleep never came in any restful form.

Now a haze of feverish, unhealthy desire settled on her whenever she let her attention stray from any immediate task. She wondered if any of the other women from the ceremony had experienced the same thing. Certainly they’d stared as hard.

Oswald Denning sighed and stretched, his fingers threaded together over his head. The ancient tweed jacket that he wore in all weather revealed a split seam beneath one arm. “I think I shall adjourn to the library,” he said as he stood. “Even at my age, ‘publish or perish’ still applies. Good day, ladies.”

As he went into the sun, a surge of AC-defying heat pushed its way inside. Clara fluttered the front of her apron. “I wish we had one of those airlock double doors like they have at Denny’s.”

Rachel looked up sharply. Before she could snap back, Jimmy said, “Don’t tell me I just heard the D-word!”

Clara saw Rachel’s expression. “Yikes, I didn’t mean anything by that. They have the same doors at Walgreens too.”

Rachel said, “We just try to live in a Denny’s-free environment. They’re our main competition. If we pretend they’re not there long enough, maybe they’ll go away.”

Helena came in through the kitchen door. She wore a white button-down shirt over a bikini top, and tight black denim shorts. “How’s it going?”

Rachel frowned at her and said, “What are you doing back here?”

“I just wanted to check on Clara,” she said.

Clara, clearing Professor Denning’s dishes, sighed loudly but said nothing.

“She’s doing fine,” Rachel said, loud enough for both women to hear.

“
I
like her,” Elton Charles said from his corner table. “She’s very perky.”

Clara winked at him.

“You see?” Rachel said to Helena. “You have to cut the apron strings sometime.”

Helena grinned conspiratorially. “I know. She’s just so serious, it’s fun to pick on her.”

“I can hear you,” Clara called. She did not sound amused.

Helena poked Rachel playfully on the arm. “By the way, Michelle just told me she saw you at the park for that male-stripper show on Saturday.”

“Yes, I went with Patty,” Rachel said. “It was quite a sight.”

Helena snorted. “Honey, to hear her go on about it, you’d think she was straight.”

So it even affected Michelle
. “He
was
handsome, but I’m sure it was all just some stunt to get attention.”

“Then I think it worked.”

Rachel felt a rush of shame and snapped, “What does that mean?”

Helena’s eyebrows rose. “It means that in all the years I’ve been with her, I’ve never seen Michelle turned on by a man before. She’s the gayest woman I know.”

Rachel sighed. “Sorry. It must be the heat. Excuse me for a minute; I’ll be right back.”

She went into the ladies’ room and splashed cold water on her face. She felt like she needed a shower—not the cold kind but one that was hot and soapy and cut through grime. Yet as she studied her reflection, she saw that she was flushed even now across her shoulders and neck. She could blame it on the heat and humidity for the sake of others, but it did nothing to make her feel less … 
skanky
.

And that bugged her the most. No one had any claim on her, and she could find any man she wanted attractive. So why did lusting after the mysterious Kyle Stillwater feel so fundamentally
wrong
?

I need my lake spirits
, she thought as she wiped the water from her cheeks.
I need them tonight
.