The Writer (17 page)

There you are you little bastard!

Delroy reached down through the swim step gap with his left hand and passed the wrench into his right hand, his lower body nearly sliding off into the water in the process.

Easy, old boy. You got a job to do, now just get it done.

The plug wouldn’t budge. He tried again, and then again, failing each time to break the drain plug free.

Delroy’s anger quickly increased. He forgot about the cold water, forgot about slipping off the swim step, and even forgot about the risk of someone seeing him on a boat that wasn’t his. His lips pulled back into a wolflike snarl, and he yanked the wrench with every bit of strength left in his cancer-weakened body.

The drain plug moved.

After a few more tugs, Delroy was able to use his right hand to unscrew the plug from the hull, but realized too late the cold temperatures had rendered his fingers slow to respond and the plug fell from his grasp and drifted downward toward the marina’s mud and eel-grass bottom some ten feet below.

As Delroy stood up with a hushed grunt he could hear water trickling into the boat’s bilge. He tossed the wrench into the boat and then carefully stepped back onto the dock while he also focused on catching his breath. His fedora sat where he had left it atop one of the many white-framed electrical boxes the boats in the marina used to plug into shore power. Soon the hat was back on Delroy’s head and he made his way up the ramp toward Adele.

“Are we good?”

Delroy grinned.

“Indeed, we are. There’s a good deal of water coming into the boat. Before long, the bilge pump will kick on, and that’ll get the attention of someone around here. Then they’ll make a quick to call to the sheriff that he’s got a serious problem. My guess is he’ll be down here within the hour.”

Adele scanned the area for any sign of someone else being nearby and found none.

“OK, until then we hide and wait.”

Delroy pointed to a nook across the main road that was partially hidden by a tall evergreen tree growing out of the hillside between two large homes that had sweeping views of the marina and island waters beyond.

“Up there would work. We can see everyone coming and going and still have most of the marina in our sightline as well.”

Adele agreed and the two made their way up to the road. By the time they reached it, the last of the nighttime darkness had almost completely dissipated. From somewhere on the other side of Deer Harbor, perhaps near Decklan’s island, came the long and lonely wail of a single loon that carried across the glasslike waters and rose up to echo over the broad-branched shoulders of the trees that stretched out above the island’s shores.

It was a sound both beautiful and ominous that shot a brief, cold quiver up and down Adele’s spine.

“Fortune smiles upon us, Ms. Plank. The Native American tribes of this region have long considered that song to be a harbinger of harmony and truth.”

Adele glanced at the old man with uncertainty.

“Really?”

“Oh, yes! Do you know the loon, unlike most other birds, has
solid
bones? It is what allows them to dive so far beneath the surface of the water and find the truth that hides beneath.”

The loon’s call sounded again, just as the light of the morning sun broke out over the hillside and caressed the Deer Harbor waters below.

Adele nudged Delroy with her left elbow.

“I sure hope you’re right about that bird out there. We could use some harmony and truth.”

Delroy rested his chin upon the arms he had folded over his knees and smiled, an act which deepened the already crevice-like lines that mapped either side of his mouth and the corners of his eyes.

“As do I, young lady, as do I.”

Within ten minutes, an older, tall, balding and heavily-bearded man lumbered down the middle of the road with long arms swinging at his sides. He turned onto the path leading to the marina.

Delroy leaned toward Adele and whispered into her left ear.

“That’s Old Jack. I haven’t seen him in almost ten years. He works on a lot of boats around here. Really knows his stuff. He’s something of a local legend among all the area boat owners.”

Adele remembered that Martin Speaks mentioned that it was Old Jack who kept Decklan’s Chris Craft in such good condition.

“I think you best get yourself ready. If anyone were to notice something taking on water, it would be Old Jack.”

Delroy’s prediction proved accurate. Mere minutes later they heard Old Jack speaking loudly into his cell phone at the top of the marina ramp.

“You might want to get yourself down here quick, Sheriff. I can hear the water coming in. Your bilge pump is working overtime trying to keep up. We might need to pull her out of the water pronto or you’ll be pulling her off the bottom before too long.”

It was Adele’s turn to whisper to Delroy.

“Well done, Professor! This is going about as smoothly as we could have hoped for.”

Soon a rust-plagued pickup truck pulled up to the marina entrance, after which both Martin and Will Speaks stepped out and quickly made their way down the ramp to their boat. Adele and Delroy could hear the former Island County sheriff cursing loudly at the water coming into the small fishing vessel.

“OK, I’m calling the taxi to take me to the sheriff’s home. You stay here and then message me if they leave before I get back.”

Delroy tipped his fedora, underneath which his eyes glimmered with excitement. He was truly enjoying playing the part of Adele’s accomplice in the mysterious adventure he found himself involved in.

“Be careful, young lady, and call me at the first sign of any trouble.”

Delroy watched Adele as she jogged down the road until she was out of sight of the marina. Adele spoke into her cell phone and then waited for the cab to arrive. When it did, she opened the right back door and then paused to give Delroy a quick wave. He waved back and then heard a subconscious whisper of warning that he should try and stop her from going to the isolated home without him. By the time Delroy pushed himself up onto his feet, Adele was gone. The soft, distant drone of the departing taxi’s tires against the pavement was the only sign she had been there at all.

Adele Plank was going into a potentially dangerous unknown, and doing so entirely on her own.

“You mind me asking how you know the sheriff?”

Adele sat in the back of Joe’s taxi quietly building up the courage to actually break into the home of a former law enforcement officer.

“I’m a reporter. It’s for an article.”

Adele could see Joe glancing at her in the rearview mirror. His eyes lingered on her for a brief moment and then he shrugged, an indication he no longer cared what her intentions with the former sheriff might be.

“Don’t think I’ve ever dropped anyone off at his house is all. I figure Sheriff’s never been one for entertaining people. Truth be told, I think the guy is just a puffed up, self-important, old prick. His boy seems all right, though. A bit off in the head, but nice enough. He sure likes being on the water. I see him out there all the time on that little skiff of his. Rain or shine, it don’t matter. Can’t say I blame him. Means he doesn’t have to listen to his old man’s bitching! I remember him bragging to me a few summers back how he was taking it all the way to Bellingham and back on a single tank of gas. That’s quite a trip in such a little boat, but like I said, he’s always been a little off.”

Adele didn’t respond. In fact, she was so focused on sticking to her plan she hardly heard the taxi driver’s words at all. Only when the car came to a stop on the side of a narrow, heavily-treed road did she look up and realize they had arrived at the destination that was the gated drive to the home of Martin Speaks and his son Will.

“You need me to wait here for you? I don’t mind, got nothing better to do.”

Adele was grateful for the offer, realizing Joe could add another layer of security for her in case Martin or Will returned.

“Actually, yes, that would be great. Thank you so much.”

Joe shrugged again and picked up a book from the front passenger seat.

“It’s no problem. Give me a chance to get some reading done. I figure it’s about time I read this thing since the guy who wrote it lives around here.”

Adele saw the book’s cover and realized it was a copy of
Manitoba.

The taxi driver tapped the book with the tip of his left pointer finger.

“You read it?”

Adele nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve read it.”

Minutes later Adele was adjusting her backpack and walking down the long driveway to the Speaks family’s residence. A row of aged pine trees bordered either side of the drive, their long branches reaching and creating swathes of shadow that made Adele quicken her pace.

It was nearly a half mile before she came upon a large, two-story farmhouse that rose up from a large clearing. The tall grass appeared not to have been cut in years. In some spots it was well over three feet. The home itself leaned drunkenly to its right side, and its dull, white exterior was badly chipped and faded. One of the windows was boarded over with a section of water-stained plywood. Large sections of the roof were covered in blue tarp and kept in place by concrete cinder blocks. The rotted steps leading to the covered front porch had several large gaps where it appeared a foot had broken through.

If Adele didn’t know better, she would have thought the house had been abandoned long ago. Rusted remnants of various vehicles dotted the landscape around the residence. A large, reddish barn missing its roof stood some three hundred yards to the right of the home, its entrance almost fully concealed by the tall grass.

The area was oddly absent of any noise. Even the wind seemed determined to avoid the place. Adele was shocked that human beings could live in such conditions. She moved carefully up the porch steps and stood just outside the front door. Her right hand trembled as it reached out to grasp the door’s handle.

Locked. Did you think it would be that easy?

Adele strode through the tall grass toward the rear of the home. She reached a porch, where a piece of plywood attached to hinges served as a makeshift backdoor. Three old, plastic lawn chairs facing the back portion of the multi-acre property populated the porch. A filth-encrusted coffee can, overflowing with cigarette butts rested between two of the chairs. The stench of the stale tobacco was almost overwhelming, but Adele soon realized the smell was actually coming from inside the home.

She stepped carefully onto the covered porch and pulled the door open. Adele took a long, slow breath and was about to enter the home when she stopped and turned around.

Three chairs.

Adele looked at each of the chairs more closely. Two of the seats had deep indentations.

Martin and Will Speaks.

There was barely any indentation on the bottom of the third chair, indicating it was hardly used, or used by someone not heavy enough to make one.

Adele could feel her heart pounding inside her chest. A layer of sweat covered her face. The pieces of a puzzle she didn’t want to imagine to actually be real were falling into place.

She knew what must be done.

The answer, however horrible it might prove to be, was to be found within the home. Adele returned to the backdoor and walked inside.

As soon as she crossed the door’s barrier, Adele’s right hand reached up to cover her nose and mouth. She fought the urge to vomit as her senses were assaulted by the stench of rotting food, nicotine, and human waste. The floor below her feet was covered in refuse, a combination of garbage, dirt, and cigarette ash. She heard flies buzzing over the dishes and scum-water that filled the sink, but couldn’t actually see them in the kitchen’s grey-gloom light.

An old, nicotine-yellowed fridge hummed quietly in the right corner of the kitchen. Next to it was a small, plastic-topped eating table covered in stacks of newspapers and food-encrusted forks and knives. Three chairs surrounded the table.

Yet more dirty dishes were piled atop a black stove stained with the remnants of meals from days, weeks, and months past. Adele’s eyes adjusted to the low light of the kitchen interior as she looked down a narrow hallway that led from the kitchen into the home’s main lower level.

The short walk down that hallway revealed walls scattered with fist-sized holes along with empty picture frames devoid of images. Adele emerged from the hallway into the living room and found it surprisingly clean and free of clutter. Even the dark brown and orange shag carpet that covered the floor appeared to have been regularly vacuumed. A dark, red-cloth couch ran nearly the entire length of the back wall in front of which was a simple, black-painted coffee table. On the opposite wall from the couch was a decades-old television with a pair of rabbit ears on top of it. The TV didn’t appear to be plugged in. The entire room seemed to be an attempt by the home’s residents to represent a point in time from which they didn’t wish to move beyond, a kind of remembrance of what once was.

Even the cream-colored walls looked to have been kept almost free from the yellow nicotine stains that covered every other corner of the house.

Adele turned toward the narrow, wood-framed staircase that led upstairs, but found it in such disrepair she feared it to be incapable of supporting her weight. The third step was missing entirely and opened up into a pitch-black space beneath the stairs out of which Adele thought she smelled something even more wretched than the rotting stench from the kitchen.

Beyond the staircase was another narrow hall that included three doors. The first door opened into the home’s only bathroom. It was in a similar state as the kitchen with the added attraction of being covered in a thick layer of urine and human waste both on the floor and the walls nearest the toilet. The single sink was badly cracked, and the wood countertop was nearly rotted entirely from years of water seeping through the broken sink. Adele reached down and opened the small cabinet door under the sink and screamed before slamming the door shut. She backed out of the bathroom and then took several seconds to calm herself.