The Secrets of Lake Road (6 page)

She changed clothes, shoved her feet into work boots, and went back outside to the shed in search of a handsaw. It was too late at night for the chainsaw, which was too bad because it would’ve made the work that much easier. The door to the shed stuck, and she had to yank hard to get it open. She heard a small animal scurry to the corner when she stepped inside. She pulled the string to the bare light bulb and looked around. She found the handsaw hanging on a nail above the workbench. Underneath the saw was an old, deflated inner tube, the one Chris used to ride on behind their boat, the same inner tube her father had used to pull her and her brother, Billy.

She lifted the tube, and the unmistaken smell of rotting rubber wafted through the air, the scent unpleasant to most but not to her. It was the scent of happier times. She remembered not only the times when Chris was a young boy riding the tube, but also, more sharply, the times with her brother. When Billy was young, well before puberty, he’d sit between her legs and grip the handles. “Hold on!” she would yell as they sailed across the water. It had felt like flying.

And one time when their father had made a particularly sharp turn, the tube had flipped, sending both her and Billy jetting across the lake, their bodies slapping the water, their laughter filling the air. On the pier not far from where they were thrown, a group of girls around fourteen years of age, Dee Dee’s age at the time, jeered and poked fun at her. Even then her strong body and large frame evoked ridicule.

“Come on,” an eleven-year-old Billy had said, tugging on Dee Dee’s arm, pulling her away from the sneering girls. “I’ll race you to the boat.”

The endless summer days on the lake with her brother had been some of the best days of her life. He had been her best friend.

*   *   *

She grabbed the handsaw and slammed the door to the shed and the memories. She walked around the tree limb, careful not to trip over the smaller branches. It was thicker than she had originally thought. It split from the old oak tree next to the cabin. They were lucky it didn’t hit the roof. On the bright side, it would make good firewood. She tried lifting the end, grunting at the heft of it. “Well, shit.” Nothing was ever easy.

She set to work, sawing off the smaller branches and tossing them aside. She worked for another thirty minutes, her back and arms tiring from the labor. When she sawed off most of the smaller pieces, she began the arduous work of sawing the limb in quarters, her thoughts on the drowned little girl. She hoped she was found before the storm hit. The lake bottom was treacherous, formed by a glacier thousands of years ago, leaving behind shelves and caverns and ravines. It would be anyone’s guess where the strong current in a storm would take a little girl—anyone’s guess where she would be hidden.

After another thirty minutes or more she dragged the last piece of the limb to the side. She pulled the car into the opened space, cut the lights, and sat down on the porch step in the dark to wipe her brow and catch her breath.

She heard footsteps, recognizing at once who it was by the shape of the hat on his head. “Just like a blister,” she had said to Sheriff Borg when he had been within earshot. “Showing up when the work is done.”

He walked over to where she was sitting and placed his foot on the step, resting his forearm on top of his thigh. “We need to talk.”

Her first thought was Chris. “Is it my boy?” she asked, and pulled herself up, her muscles exhausted. It wouldn’t be the first time the sheriff had paid her a visit: minor stuff Chris had been involved in, graffiti, peeling out in the Pavilion parking lot, pissing in public. The sheriff always had brought Chris home rather than slapping a fine on him—or worse, locking him up in jail for the night. He was willing to help her out, knowing she was raising Chris on her own.

“No,” he said. “It’s not about Chris.”

“Well, then come on in.” She was thirsty, and whatever it was he came to tell her, it could wait until she had a drink. She went over to the door and held it open. He stepped inside and removed his sheriff’s hat. His gray hair was clipped close to his scalp. His brow was furrowed. He followed her to the small kitchen where she offered him a glass of lake water. He declined.

When she finished drinking and set the glass down, she noticed the blister the size of a quarter on her hand. It was almost funny given her earlier comment. She poked at it, the fluid inside squishing around.
Man hands
. The thought reminded her of an episode on an old sitcom about a guy breaking up with a woman for having man hands.

“So what’s this about?” she asked.

“It’s about what happened today.” He was tall like her. If any man at the lake could match her height and strength, he was the one.

“You mean the little girl? What does she have to do with me? Did they find her?”

“No, they still haven’t found her.” He started playing with his hat, kneading the edges with his fingers. “But they did find something else.” He paused.

“What?” She had no patience for bullshit. Whatever it was, she wanted it straight-up.

“They recovered some bones today while they were searching for the girl.”

She eyed him, skeptical about what he was telling her. “What bones?” she asked.

“I’m no medical examiner, but they looked to be bones from a forearm.”

She stared at him, wanting to believe what he was telling her was true.

He stared back. “Of course, they’ll need to be sent to the lab. It will be a couple of days before we have any definite answers.”

Her breathing was shallow, her spine rigid. “What does this mean?” she asked. The bones had to be her brother’s, Billy’s. The sheriff wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“I’m not sure it means anything. Just that we may have found what we couldn’t before.”

“But it could prove something, right?” She never believed Billy’s drowning was an accident, although that was how it was ruled, an accidental death, even though his skull had been cracked. At the time they had explained it, justified it with excuses, how he must’ve fallen, hit his head, and drowned. There hadn’t been any witnesses to prove otherwise, although Dee Dee didn’t believe that either. Billy had left the cabin that night with his girlfriend, Jo. Where the hell was she when it happened? Why wasn’t she with him?

There was something off about that whole night from the moment Jo had set foot inside their home. She had been distracted, waiting for Billy to finish dinner so they could go out for the night. Billy had asked Jo a question twice, although Dee Dee no longer remembered what the question was, something innocuous. But Jo wasn’t paying attention, and that was the strangest part. Jo
always
gave Billy her full attention. For three summers since Billy was thirteen years old, Jo was a permanent fixture by his side like a lake leech stuck to his skin.

But that week, that particular night, Dee Dee was certain something had changed. It was as though she felt the fracture in their relationship as sure as if the earth’s fault lines had shifted beneath her feet. Of course, it was impossible to know exactly what had changed. And she had never gotten the chance to ask him.

And then there was Heil, how hard he had pushed to have the case closed when witnesses confirmed Billy had been drinking underage, the alcohol supplied by Heil’s bar. As for the missing bones from Billy’s forearm, they were thought to have been clawed off by snappers, gone forever.

So no, she never believed her brother’s drowning was an accident. There were too many unanswered questions.

“Look,” the sheriff said. “I know you’re hoping they’ll find some evidence, something new to suggest it wasn’t an accident.”

“You know I am,” she shot back, letting her anger and frustration show. She was nineteen and already knocked up and alone, deserted by her boyfriend, when she had lost Billy. She was just a kid. And yet the sheriff had always been willing to listen to her, to the possibility there was more to the story about her brother’s disappearance than he was ever able to prove.

Tonight he stared at her as though he was unsure whether or not to continue. He knew her well enough to know there was no reasoning with her when she was agitated.

“Go on. Spit it out,” she said.

“Not a lot of people know about the bones. Heil wants to keep it quiet. He doesn’t think it’s a priority under the circumstance. All he’s concentrating on is the current situation with the girl. He doesn’t want to remind people there were other drownings around here.”

“What Heil does or doesn’t do makes no difference to me.” All she needed was someone in a lab somewhere to prove what she had known all along.

“Fair enough. Just don’t get your hopes up.” When she didn’t respond, the sheriff put on his hat. “You should wear gloves next time.” He pointed to her hands, referring to the blister. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and showed himself out.

*   *   *

After the sheriff left, Dee Dee grabbed a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator. She turned off all the lights and stepped outside to sit on the porch swing in the dark and think. She often sat alone deep into the night, staring out at the lake, drinking beer with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Some might say she had a problem, drinking alone in the dark undercover. Maybe she did. But she had stopped caring what other people thought a long time ago. So what if she drank herself numb most nights? She wasn’t hurting anyone and how many people could say the same thing? Not many by her estimation. Not many at all.

A cool breeze blew from the water. The storm broke the humidity at least for a little while. She popped the tab on the can. The sheriff was right. She needed to keep things in perspective and try not to put too much into a pair of bones. It could prove to be nothing. But what if it proved to be something?

She downed the beer and crushed the empty can in her hand, the blister screaming in protest. She reached for another can.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was early evening the next day, and the little girl was still missing.

Jo stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her head. She was wearing her favorite low-rise jeans and a white T-shirt. She felt a little better after showering, but the pack of cigarettes she had smoked while sitting on Eddie’s dock that afternoon in the hot sun had added to her already pounding head.

It had taken two hours for the text message to go through to Kevin telling him he needed to get to the lake, that they may have found Billy’s bones. She wasn’t sure what it meant, if it meant anything, but she wanted him here. While she had fiddled with the phone, she watched the underwater recovery team search the lake to no avail.

She rubbed her brow.

Gram walked past, her purse slung over her shoulder. She was wearing one of her staple outfits for special occasions—a pair of blue cotton pants and matching blouse.

“Where are you going?” Jo asked, and removed the towel from her head. The thick tousles draped over her shoulders, soaking her T-shirt almost instantly.

“Frank Heil called an association meeting.” Gram shot her a sideways glance and continued for the door.

“I’m coming with you.” She tossed the towel onto the kitchen table and ran her fingers through her hair.

Gram stopped and stared at her. “Why? You were never interested in these meetings before.”

“Well, I am now.”

*   *   *

They piled into Gram’s Oldsmobile, a big green four-door sedan Pop had bought her before he had died. He had joked about how Gram couldn’t hurt herself if she happened to bounce off a few trees in what he nicknamed the Loch Ness, a battle-ax of a car. It had been five years since he had passed of heart failure right there in the cabin in his bed, sleeping peacefully next to Gram. It wasn’t until the next morning that Gram had become aware he was gone. Since then, the Loch Ness endured several run-ins with posts, curbs, and Jo’s bumper, but so far it had stayed away from any trees.

Jo smiled on the inside, remembering Pop, the father she loved. He had been a good man, a solid man who had been grounded in his beliefs of right and wrong, who had tried not to judge her or her decisions, although in the end, he had done just that. And still, at times like now, she missed him all the more.

Gram backed out of the parking space, nicking the fence post. “Holy crow’s nest,” she said, and threw the car in drive.

Jo held onto the
oh shit
handle as Gram ran over every pothole on the way to the Pavilion. She blew past the stop sign on Lake Road and slid into the parking lot. Her usually open face was closed in a stern expression, a look she typically reserved for Jo. Then again, Frank Heil and his association meetings had that kind of effect on Gram and most people around there.

They got out of the car without talking. Jo followed Gram in silence up the steps to the second floor, where the meeting was being held. Eddie was behind the bar. He squeezed Jo’s shoulder and leaned over to give Gram a peck on the cheek. For a second Gram’s face opened to him, but just as quickly it closed.

“He’s fired up,” Eddie whispered loud enough for both her and Gram to hear.

Heil was on the other side of the barroom with his cohorts. One was a man by the name of Stimpy, who owned the rental boats on the lake. The other two were local fishermen, and Jonathan, who owned not one but five cabins in the colony. They all had something to lose if the beach and lake remained closed.

Other cabin owners filtered in and took their respective seats around scattered tables, leaving Sheriff Borg to sit alone. It was a known fact that Heil had the sheriff in his back packet. Freebies at the Pavilion—swim passes, rounds of drinks at the bar—kept the sheriff on Heil’s side when it came to association matters and community affairs.

Small town politics sucked, and Jo was reminded why she avoided such meetings. She hated public debates and narrow-minded people. But she was here because she had to know if there was any news about the bones. She had to know if they were in fact Billy’s. She could hear Kevin’s voice inside her head telling her it didn’t matter whose bones they were, to get out of there, to leave the lake. But he had to know she couldn’t. Her guilt wouldn’t let her.