The Summer Town
Page 17
A member of the crew brought the wine up on a tray and served one glass to Anna. “Thank you,” she said. Alex took the other and placed it on a small table by the cabin wall.
Sally walked up at the same time. Alex looked over and watched her come across the deck, her slow graceful movements, the beauty of her hair blowing back in the light wind. She had on a blue dress she had worn that first summer they had met.
“Hello beautiful,” he said. He reached out for her and hugged her and then kissed her on the cheek.
Anna backed up a few steps along the rail. “Hi Sally, you do look beautiful tonight.”
Sally looked over at Anna and smiled, “Thank you Anna, just some old thing I pulled out of the closet. Your dress is magnificent.”
Anna looked down assessing herself, “Just some old thing…” and then she laughed.
Alex stood there looking at these two beautiful women who he would share food and drink with tonight and the one special woman he would share his bed with later in the night and all thoughts of lawsuits and investigations seemed a distant concern.
Megan Clark walked up to the big white house on Dixon Street that sat on the hill overlooking Round Lake. A circle driveway in the front was filled with a black Range Rover and a much smaller red Porsche convertible. She walked by the cars and up on the front porch. Pushing the button on the wall, she heard the chimes ring and quickly saw a woman coming down the front hallway through the sidelight window of the door.
The door opened and a woman who appeared to be in her sixties, dressed immaculately in a black evening dress, greeted her. “Well hello, Megan. How nice to see you. Please come in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wainwright. How have you been?”
“Fine dear, just fine. Are you up for the whole summer again?”
“For most of it, I hope,” said Megan. “Is Melissa home?”
“Why yes, of course, just a moment? How are your father and Sally?” the woman said as she walked down the hall.
“They’re fine, out on the EmmaLee tonight having some dinner.”
“Yes, I saw the EmmaLee going out earlier tonight when we were having drinks on the back deck. What a beautiful ship. We’re all so glad your father brings her back now every summer.”
“So am I. I love this place,” Megan said.
“Wait just a moment, I’ll go find Melissa. Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks, I’ll just wait out on the deck.”
“Certainly, go ahead, everyone’s already left for dinner. I have to meet them over at the Club.”
Megan walked through a large sliding glass door and out onto the wide deck across the back of the Wainwright’s house. As she reached the rail she looked down on the breathtaking scene of Round Lake and the boats and the lights coming on in the homes along the shore and up through town. The Beaver Islander ferry was just pulling into its berth along the pier by the channel and crowds of people were waiting along the fence to pick up friends and loved ones after their excursion over to the island twenty miles out on Lake Michigan.
She heard a door open behind her and turned to see Melissa Wainwright coming out. She still had a bikini top on from a day in the sun and cut-off blue jean shorts. Her red hair was tied up on top of her head in loose curls.
“Hey Megan, thanks for stopping over. I’ve been meaning to call you since we got up here last week.” She came over and gave Megan a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Hi Melissa, welcome back for another action-packed summer. How was school?” Melissa had just started at Princeton this past year.
“A bitch really,” Melissa said. “I’m studying my butt off.”
“I’m sure you’re doing fine, Ms. Rocket Scientist.”
“Hardly, so what’s up? You want a drink or something?”
“No thanks, your mom already offered. I just wanted to ask you about something.”
“What’s that?”
Megan jumped up and sat on the rail and then crossed her legs in front of her. “I heard your car was stolen last night.”
The bright look on Melissa’s face faded quickly. “Where’d you hear?”
“A friend told me today,” Megan said. “What happened?”
Melissa hesitated for a moment and looked out over the harbor. “Well, I’m such an idiot. I left the keys in it out on the driveway last night. I was inside for twenty minutes and I came out and it was gone. My parents are furious with me.”
“But I see you got it back already.”
“Yes, the police found it this morning,” Melissa said. “Some Indian kid had it down the lake somewhere. Thank God, he didn’t wreck it. My dad would have killed me!”
“Melissa, I know this kid,” Megan said, her tone serious.
“You know him?”
“Yes, his name is Will Truegood and I don’t think he stole your car.”
Melissa Wainwright hesitated again. “Well of course he did, they found it parked at his house this morning.”
“Melissa, what’s going on here?” Megan asked, her tone turning very stern.
Melissa got an angry look on her face. “What do you mean, there’s nothing going on other than some kid steals my car and now you’re standing up for him. What in hell is that all about?”
“I know Will Truegood, and I know he didn’t steal your car.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Melissa, did someone put you up to this?”
“Alright, that’s enough!” Melissa yelled. “I think you better leave.”
“Melissa…”
“I can’t believe your doing this to me, Megan.”
“I’m not doing anything to you. I’m trying to help a friend.”
“I thought we were your friends!”
Mary Alice Gregory sat at the corner table of the dimly lit restaurant looking out over the small lake at the Charlevoix Country Club. Her husband, Louis Kramer, seemed lost in the glass of bourbon in front of him. The restaurant was about half full and Mary Alice had just returned from walking among the tables and saying hello to all the people she knew, which was just about everyone.
“Louis, you’re making a scene with this morose, self-absorbed, oh pity me attitude tonight. Is it those two gorillas that came to see you this afternoon?”
Louis looked up and then took a long sip from his drink. “Gorillas?”
“Yeah, Harry and Larry from New York. God, they looked like a pair of hitmen from the Bronx.”
Louis blanched at the reference and took another drink.
“Would you please tell me who the hell these guys are,” she demanded.
“Alberto is a large shareholder in our new company. He was here today checking on his investment.”
“Couldn’t he just call?”
“He said he was in the neighborhood.”
Vince Slayton sat across from Sheriff Elam Stone in a small conference room. One of the deputies stood near the wall. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling cast a bright glare on everything in the otherwise dingy room. Slayton sat slumped over, his arms crossed in front of him on the table, a glass of water half gone by his side.
“We’ll have a court appointed lawyer here for you by tomorrow morning, Mr. Slayton. You’ve been read your rights. You know you don’t have to speak to us until your attorney arrives.”
Slayton just grunted without looking up.
“It wouldn’t hurt your cause, though, to help us out with a couple of questions tonight,” the sheriff said.
“Why don’t you just go to hell!” he said, looking up at Stone. “What’s this all about anyway?”
The sheriff pulled a plastic bag out of a satchel lying on the table. He placed it between them, and a large knife was clearly visible. “You ever seen this knife, Mr. Slayton?”
Slayton looked at it but didn’t respond.
“Must have seen it one time or other,” Stone said. “Got your fingerprints all over it.”
Slayton looked up, surprised. “Fingerprints?”
Again, he didn’t answer.
“Any idea how this big old knife found its way to the bottom of the South Arm, right under the boat where we found George Hansen dead and apparently murdered?”
“Now hold on!”
“What, Mr. Slayton?”
“I didn’t have nothin’ to do with no murder!”
“So, I got your attention now. How do you know George Hansen, or I guess I should ask, how did you know him?”
“Never heard of him.”
Stone turned to his deputy. “Looks like we’re not gonna get very far tonight. Put him back in his cell.” He turned back to Slayton. “You know, we’re talking murder here, Mr. Slayton. That’s damn serious stuff. You can tell, I’m real damn serious about this. George Hansen was a good man and a good friend of mine and anyone who had anything to do with this is gonna get their ass fried! You hear me?”
Chapter Eighteen
You often hear people say it’s just ‘human nature’. Is it possible that ‘human nature’ can harbor such evil in men at times, such treachery and willingness to hurt others who are too weak to defend themselves? What’s human or even natural about any of that?
… the summer of 1952
Sara and Agnes Slayton stood next to Emily’s bed. The yellow walls and white lace curtains brightened the room even though dark clouds swept by overhead and a light rain was falling outside on a cool summer morning in Charlevoix. A clap of thunder sounded in the distance.
Agnes was holding Emily’s hand in hers. Emily looked up at the woman whose face had aged far beyond her little time on this earth and then at little Sara who stood by her mom, a worn teddy bear under her arm.
“Dr. McKendry, I’m just so sorry about all this,” Agnes said.
“Agnes, none of this is your fault and you’ve got to stop thinking this way,” Emily said, still weak from the earlier attack.”
“We shouldn’t have come into your house. We shouldn’t…”
“Agnes, please,” said Emily.’ I knew what I was doing, and I still know I did the right thing.”
Agnes looked out the window and she blinked at a flash of lighting as another clap of thunder rumbled outside. “I’m taking Sara home today, Doctor McKendry.”
Emily tried to sit up, but the pain in the back of her head seared through her brain and she eased back down into the soft pillow. “Agnes, no, you can’t go back there until they find Harold.”
“We’ll be okay,” she said sadly, “we’ve been through this before. We need to be in our own home.”
“You can’t put your daughter in danger like this anymore,” Emily pleaded.
“I won’t let him hurt her. You believe me now, Dr. McKendry, that man won’t hurt Sara again.”
The little girl looked up at her mother and it tore at Emily to see the sad uncertainty in her face. “Agnes, you can’t protect yourselves, can’t you see that?”
“We’ll be alright. The sheriff said he’d send some of his men by regular.”
Emily squeezed her hand tightly. “Please don’t do this. You know you’re welcome to stay here.”
“Thank you, but we need to be home,” Agnes Slayton said.
Jonathan turned off Highway 31, on to the dirt road that led back to the Slayton’s farmhouse. He drove his truck slowly over the big potholes in the road, filled this morning with brown muddy water from the rain. He could see the old farmhouse up through the trees and slowed, looking for Slayton’s truck. It wasn’t in the drive next to the house and he didn’t see anyone moving around. He stopped in front of the house and looked at the sad state of disrepair the place was in and everything around it. Rusted farm machines were left about in no particular order. Toys were scattered here and there and even a few dishes.
He sat in his truck, the engine running, his side-by-side 12-gauge shotgun sitting on the floor next to him propped up on the passenger’s seat. There was a shell in the breach. He looked over at the gun and couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of actually shooting a man. He had brought it for protection, having no idea what Slayton might do if he did find him.
Back in the war, he had never had to shoot at a man. He’d served on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific and was shot at often enough. He thought about the men he had seen die during those years, many were good friends and he wondered to himself how a low piece of trash like Harold Slayton could be allowed to live on this earth when so many good men had been taken away.
Jonathan opened the door and got out. He left the gun on the seat inside and started to walk around the side of the house. He saw a barn off behind the house, probably painted red at one time, but now a dingy and peeling grey and brown.
As he got to the back of the house he stopped suddenly and saw the rear tailgate of a rusted truck sticking out from behind the barn. He looked around, but still didn’t see anyone. He started backing slowly up toward his own truck when he heard a door open. A chill rushed through him and he turned to see Harold Slayton coming out of the back door, a shotgun in his hand. The two men stood staring at each other for a moment.
“Who the hell are you?” Slayton yelled.
Jonathan watched as Slayton slid the safety off on the gun. He held it low, pointing at the ground below the dilapidated old porch.
“You Harold Slayton?” Jonathan asked, trying to control his voice and keep his legs from shaking.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Jonathan McKendry.”
“You that bitch’s husband?”
Jonathan clenched his fists and had to breath deep to keep from rushing at the man. “I’m here to tell you, Slayton, I don’t want you coming near my wife again. I’m damn serious now.”
Slayton laughed. “You talk pretty tough for a man’s got two barrels a 20-gauge aimed at his balls.”
“Why don’t you put the gun down and you and me get this taken care of right now,” Jonathan said, starting toward Slayton.
“I think you better get the hell off my property. And don’t go sending the law out here cause I’ll be gone again. Gone like the wind, ya hear?”
“Slayton, did you hear me about my wife?”
“Go to hell, McKendry, and get the hell out of here before I blow a good size hole in your belly.”
“This isn’t over, Slayton.”
“Oh, I know it’s not over. You two just keep your noses outta our family’s business, ya hear?”
“It’s my business now, Slayton,” Jonathan said. “How could you hurt that little girl, let alone your own wife?”
“They only get what’s comin’ to em,” Slayton hissed.
Jonathan kept on toward the porch and then stopped when Slayton raised the gun to his shoulder. “Alright Slayton, another time maybe.”
“You don’t get your ass outta here, they ain’t gonna be no other time.”
Jonathan backed away slowly. When he got to his truck, he climbed inside and looked at his own shotgun lying against the seat. For a moment, he was tempted to reach for it. He looked out through the windshield and saw Harold Slayton coming around the side of the house, the gun still resting in his hands. He put the gearshift in reverse and backed around. As he pulled out to leave, he saw Slayton walking up onto the front porch of the house. Jonathan saw him staring back at him through his rearview mirror all the way out to the main road.
The nurse from Emily’s office, who had been staying at the house through the day while Jonathan was away, came into Emily’s room. “Dr. McKendry, you have another visitor.”
Emily had dozed off and she looked over at the nurse. “Who’s here?”
“He says he’s an old friend.”
“Tell him to come in.”
Emily tried to sit up as best she could, and she adjusted her blankets around her. When she looked up at the door, she couldn’t have been any more surprised when she saw Connor Harris standing th
ere. “Connor!”
“How long’s it been, Emily?”
Back in their teens they had been close friends during the summers up in Charlevoix. Their parents were also friends and for two summers just before the war, they had even dated. That was before the summer of ’41, when she had met Jonathan and Connor had his run-ins with both the McKendry boys.
“How are you?” Emily asked.
“I’ve been better,” he said, touching the swollen bruise on his cheek and walking into the room and over to the side of the bed. His left eye was almost swollen shut and angry colors of blue and black spread out beneath it.
“I’m so sorry about Jennifer,” Emily said. “Is she doing any better?”
“She’d be a lot better if it wasn’t for that damned kid who had his way with her.”
Emily could hear the old bitterness and anger in his voice that eventually alienated him from her all those years ago. “Connor, why are you here?”
“I heard about this Slayton mess and that you’d been hurt. I just wanted to stop by to see how you were doing.”
“I’ll be alright, it’s just going to take a day or so in bed to get this pain in my head to go away.”
“You need to be careful around this Slayton fellow,” Connor said. “All I’m hearing around town is how much trouble this guy is.”
“I think it’s a little bit late to worry about that now,” she said, touching the bruise on her own cheek. She tried to smile, but it still hurt.
“Emily, it’s good to see you. It’s been far too long.”
She just nodded.
“Do you ever think back to those summers we used to be together?” Connor asked.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, I know. How are you and McKendry doing?”
“We’re doing great. Jonathan’s boat business is really going well, and we just bought a new house up on Michigan. We’ll be moving up there in a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah great,” he said with little conviction.
“Connor, why’d you really come?” Emily asked.