It was close to midnight on the little wall clock in the kitchen. Jonathan got up to walk him to the door. When they were down the hall away from Emily, he whispered, “What’s going to happen to the little girl?”
“They’ll process this through the courts and start looking for a temporary foster home. There may be other family involved, too. I don’t know,” George said.
“They need to find that sonofabitch and put him away for good,” Jonathan said.
“I’ll follow up with the Public Health folks again in the morning and let you know,” George said.
“Thanks buddy,” Jonathan replied, patting him on the back as he walked out the front door.
George turned on the front porch and said, “You keep an eye on Emily tonight. I’m worried about how she’s taking all this.”
“I know, thanks,” Jonathan said. He watched his friend walk away down the front sidewalk to his car.
He went back into the kitchen and Emily was gone, so he walked quietly up to their bedroom and found her sitting on the bed, her head down in her hands. He walked up and sat down gently next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him. She turned and buried her face in the front of his shirt. He could feel the quiet sobs racking her body.
Connor and Jennifer drove up to the clearing in the woods at North Point where the other car was parked. He pulled over and turned off the car. The moon was up behind them now, leaving soft shadows through the trees on the ground as they walked down the sandy path.
“Where was he,” Connor asked.
“Just up there,” she said and pointed.
Around a small bend in the trail they almost tripped over the body of Andy Welton. He was lying on his side and motionless. Connor knelt beside him and pushed him over on his back. The boy didn’t respond. He could smell the liquor on him. He shook him gently, trying to wake him up. “Andy, hey Andy.”
After a little more prodding, the boy started to respond, shaking his head slowly and letting out a low, soft moaning sound. Even in the darkness, Connor could see the blood all over his face and down the front of his white shirt.
“We need to get him down to the hospital,” Connor said.
Jennifer just stood there, a helpless feeling consuming her.
“Help me out here!” Connor yelled.
The phone rang in the dark bedroom of Sheriff Willy Potts. He reached over and turned on a lamp by his bed. His wife pulled the covers up over her head and turned away from the light. He could see it was just past midnight on the little alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. The phone rang again.
“Shit!” he whispered as he reached for the receiver. Immediately, he heard the voice of Connor Harris yelling at him on the other end of the line. He listened without responding until Connor had relayed the whole story.
“I’ll be down in twenty minutes,” the sheriff said.
Mary Truegood took the bloody towels over to the sink and started rinsing them. She hadn’t spoken during the time she’d worked to clean the wound on her son’s head. Her mind raced with the fear of what might have happened that her son wasn’t telling her. Se could only think this would be even worse for him with the trial coming up.
Sammy came up and put his arms around her and tried to comfort her. He had never felt so hopeless.
Chapter Thirty-one
Megan Clark drove through the dark on the road along the north shore of Lake Charlevoix. She crossed the small bridge over Horton Creek and then turned left at the next road. A half mile later a mailbox was coming up on the left and she slowed the Jeep until she could read the name Truegood on the side. She turned in on the narrow two-track road and drove on slowly until the cabin came into view in her headlights around the final turn.
Will came out barefoot, dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt. He stood on the porch as she got out and walked up to the cabin.
“What are you doing out here in the wilderness, City Girl,” he said with a smile.
She walked up the wood steps onto the porch and surprised him by coming up and hugging him and planting a big kiss on his mouth.
“Well, hello to you, too,” he said, returning her kiss.
She stood back and smiled at him, bursting to tell him what had happened.
“What?” he asked, looking at her with a confused expression.
“I have some news for you,” she said, trying to contain her excitement.
“What kind of news?”
“Well, you’re a free man!”
“A free man?” he asked.
“I went to see my so-called friend, Melissa Wainwright, tonight and we had a long talk about her stolen car.”
“What about it?” Will asked, taking her hand and sitting down with her on the steps. The light from inside the house streamed out through the screened door onto the porch.
“Seems I was able to finally convince her to remember what really happened that night.”
“And how did you do that?” he asked.
Megan giggled. “A little friendly persuasion.”
Sally and Alex walked up to her house on Michigan and took the mail and papers out of the mailbox. They went inside and turned on the lights and then walked into the kitchen. Sally threw the mail down on the counter and then noticed the story on the cover of the Charlevoix paper.
“Suspect Charged in the Murder of George Hansen.”
“Alex, look at this,” she said, handing him the paper. They’ve finally pressed charges and released something to the papers. I’m surprised nothing came out earlier.”
She watched as Alex picked up the Courier and started reading. He stopped after the first few paragraphs, handing it back to Sally. “Well, this should get the town talking.”
Sally looked down at the page with a picture of George Hansen taken at a much younger age. Her heart ached again as she thought about the loss of her close friend. She read the whole article and then Alex came around and took her in his arms. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “I know how you feel about George.”
She put the paper down and looked up at Alex. “How about a walk down on the beach,” she said. “I think I need a little fresh air.”
They walked out the back door of the sun porch, kicking off their shoes and continued on across the lawn. The rumble of waves on the beach below greeted them as they made their way slowly down the trail through the dunes. The sand was cool beneath their feet and out on the blackness of the lake a few lights glimmered on distant boats. Up above, a billion stars were shining brightly in the clear sky.
They held each other’s hand and walked down to the water line. The beach was dark and deserted, except for a bonfire burning far to the north. They headed in that direction. Sally was closest to the water, her feet splashing along when a bigger wave would roll in. She kept thinking of George and Elizabeth and how much she would miss her favorite uncle.
“I need to go back to New York tomorrow,” Alex said, splitting the silence.
Sally stopped and looked at him in the darkness. “Why so soon?”
“My attorney called while you were in the restroom at the restaurant.”
“What’s the rush?”
“Apparently, the Attorney General’s office has pushed up a preliminary hearing. It’s the day after tomorrow. We need to prepare.”
Sally thought about Anna Bataglia and tried to control her anger. “What else did the lovely Ms. Bataglia have to say?”
“Actually, she said she was sorry for the scene at the airport.”
Sally just looked back at him, the outlines of his face shadowed in the darkness.
“She said she didn’t know what came over her and maybe she was still drunk from the night before.”
“Hardly,” Sally said.
“She’s asked the managing partner of the firm to take over the case.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, she said she thought it would be better to get Dick involved.”
“How do you feel a
bout that?” she asked.
“He’s one of the best attorneys in the country. I couldn’t be in better hands.”
They kept on along the beach, Sally thinking about her husband and his former lawyer. “You’re sure this won’t disrupt your defense?”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t let that happen,” he answered.
Sally took his hand and led him up across the beach to a low sand dune. Tall pines rose up behind them into the dark sky. She sat down and pulled him down next to her, and they looked out at the lake. A big freighter was on its way to the north a few miles out forming a small cluster of lights against the horizon.
Alex said, “Now, I know this is one of your favorite places to make out, if I remember correctly. What do you have in mind, Mrs. Clark?”
She reached over and put her hand behind his back and pulled him close. “Just come over here, will you.”
Louis Kramer tipped the bottle of vodka back as far as it would go, and the few remaining drops moistened his lips. He looked at the bottle in the light of the dashboard of the little ski boat and then threw it over the side into the lake.
His head was aching from the liquor and he tried to focus his eyes on what was ahead in the lake. He had come out through the channel into Lake Michigan an hour ago to watch the sun go down and drink and think about his fate with Alberto Manta. As the liquor went down his desperation had grown and now, he sat in quiet resignation.
“What the hell,” he mumbled, as the little boat rocked in the waves. He could just make out lights on shore at the pier back into Charlevoix. He thought about his business and his life with Mary Alice and the choices he had made. They all came together in his mind in a drunken blur. Then he thought about his partner, Alex Clark, and the trouble he’d caused. A profound sadness swept over him as he thought of the mess he’d created.
Louis looked down on the dash to find the ignition key and images of the lights and dials blurred in his brain. He finally found the key and the engine came to life and idled softly. Reaching out for the throttle he pushed it forward slowly and the boat surged up into a following wave. The boat gained speed and splashed hard down into the waves, the spray of water coming over the windshield and in his face. He pressed the throttle forward again and the boat roared up into the night.
Louis was tossed around in his seat as the boat flew off the top of one wave and into the next, the engine whining as it came up out of the water. He yelled out as loud as he could over the roar of the engine, screaming out in some wild, unintelligible wail and the wind and water blew in his face.
He pushed the throttle lever down as far as it would go. The engine roared even louder, crashing through the surf, Louis holding on to the steering wheel to keep from being thrown out of the boat. Ahead through the ripples of water streaming up over the windshield he saw lights coming; red and green and the bright flash of the lighthouse every few moments. The sounds of the engine were deafening in his ears and he couldn’t even hear his own screams as the boat lurched on.
The lights came closer and in the fuzziness of his brain, he remembered a time at school when he first met Alex Clark and they had gone sailing together one weekend at his parent’s house. A smile came across his face as he remembered his friend.
Alex and Sally both sat up on the beach as they heard the roar of a boat engine racing toward the channel into Round Lake. “What is that idiot doing?” Alex said.
“Too many crazy drunks with big toys around here,” Sally said and then she pushed him back down on his back, easing herself up on top of him. As she leaned down to kiss him again, the sound of an explosion echoed down the beach and she fell over on her side in surprise. They both looked down toward the pier as a large fireball rose up into the night, illuminating the north pier into the channel.
“Oh my God, Alex!” Sally screamed.
They both got up and started running back along the beach, buttoning buttons and tucking in shirts. “Do you have your phone?” she yelled as they ran toward the pier.
Chapter Thirty-two
Sometimes there’s a very thin line between obsession and madness. With Harold Slayton, there was very little question.
… the summer of 1952.
The moon was low in the western sky and the slightest of breezes rustled the trees. The light of the coming morning to the east was just starting to show. Harold Slayton had parked his car down the street and walked through backyards to the McKendry house. He crouched in a cluster of shrubs in their backyard and looked up at the house. All the lights were off and in the adjoining houses as well.
When he’d gone out to his farm earlier, he left the truck a quarter mile up the road and walked through the woods to his house. When he was sure there were no police, he’d gone inside and packed the supplies he needed and then quickly left. As he was going out the back door, he saw the old doll Sara liked to play with and he’d thrown it in the bag.
As he knelt motionless in the bushes, his legs started to ache, and he laid down to stretch out for a minute. He knew his daughter would be brought back here and he reached to his side and felt the cold metal from the barrel of his shotgun.
Jonathan had been awake most of the night looking up at the ceiling. Emily was asleep beside him, finally dozing off a little over an hour ago. The sound of the old alarm clock ticking next to the bed seemed louder than normal and he kept thinking about the sight of Agnes Slayton on the floor in the pool of her own blood.
Sara had cried out a few minutes ago and he’d gone quietly down the hall to check on her. She was still asleep, and he pulled the blanket back up over her.
As he lay there in the bed, he looked over at the face of his wife, Emily, illuminated in the moonlight coming in through the window. Even asleep, he saw the pain in her face.
A noise down on the first floor startled him and he sat up and listened again. He felt the cold, prickly sensations of fear rush through him and he strained to listen for another sound. There was nothing but the ticking of the clock and then he heard another scraping sound. He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest and he pushed the covers away and got out of bed, trying not to wake Emily.
He walked as quietly as he could over to the closet on the far wall and pulling the door open, he reached inside and pulled out the shotgun he used for duck hunting with George and some other friends. There was a box of shells in a bag on the floor and he reached around in the dark until he found it. He loaded one shell and the noise was so loud, he looked over at Emily. He put two more shells in the pocket of his pajamas.
His fear turned to a quiet anger as he held the gun in his hands and looked at his wife sleeping unaware. He moved as quietly as he could out of the bedroom and down the hall to the top of the stairs. A loose board creaked, and he stopped and backed up against the wall, listening again.
Now, he could hear the relentless ticking of the big grandfather clock down in the living room. He flinched when the chimes began to ring out through the house and the noise seemed deafening as he tried to listen for other sounds of an intruder. He counted the chimes without thinking. It was five o’clock.
He stood there for another minute, listening, trying to keep calm and willing his heart to slow down. There were no other sounds below and he started down the steps slowly, trying not to make a noise. He clicked the safety off on the barrel of the shotgun. The front door at the bottom of the stairs had narrow windows on each side and he could see the light coming from a streetlamp reflecting on the dark stained oak floor.
He thought the noise had come from the back of the house and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he crouched low and listened again. Only the sound of the big clock broke the stillness. He looked around into the living room and saw nothing amiss and then moved slowly down the hall toward the kitchen and the back of the house.
Then he heard a board creaking upstairs and he saw Emily’s legs coming down the steps.
“Jonathan, where are you?” she said in the darkness.
&
nbsp; He felt a moment of panic and didn’t know what to do or say.
“Jonathan?” she called out softly, trying not to wake Sara.
He moved quickly back over to the bottom of the stairs and when she saw the gun in his hands her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. Jonathan quickly held a finger up to his lips to keep her from speaking. He signaled for her to go back upstairs, but she didn’t move.
She came down the last stair and whispered, “Jonathan…”
He could sense the fear in her voice and his hands began to shake grasping the big gun. “Just go back upstairs,” he whispered as quietly as he could. “Go make sure Sara’s okay.”
She nodded, and he watched as she started to back slowly up the stairs. When she was gone, he looked back down the hallway and started to move toward the back of the house. He walked up to the doorway into the little dining room and peered around the corner of the doorjamb until he was sure there was no one there. He continued on down the hall and his bare feet on the cold wood floor kept squeaking softly beneath him. As he reached the end of the hall, he could see into the kitchen now and out through the back window. He stopped and tried his best to will his body to stop shaking. He took several deep breaths.
With the first step he took into the kitchen in a low crouch, he knew something was wrong. Before he could turn, he felt rather than saw the rushing motion of something coming at his face and in that split second before he could respond, a crushing blow landed just above his right eye. Pain shot out through his head and he staggered back, dropping his shotgun. He knew he was falling, and he tried to grab for something as he realized he was blacking out.
The last thing he heard was a shrill cry of “Jonathan!” coming from upstairs and a terrifying, helpless feeling surged through him as he fell back onto the floor and lost consciousness.
Sammy Truegood had tried to sleep but knew the sheriff would be knocking at the door at any time. He got up from his bed and quietly slipped on his pants and a jacket and then carried his boots back through the house. He knew there was no sense trying to run. There was no place to go and he was determined not to run from his problems anyway. Out in the backyard, he sat on the porch and then laced up his boots. His bike was leaning against the back of the house and he walked it out to the street and then got on.
The Summer Town Page 27