Their tread felt spongy as they walked across the carpet of pine needles to the safety-rail overlooking the lake where they watched the sun blush over the horizon, fringing the clouds in pastels of orange and pink as the sky gradually turned from gray to a soft shade of blue.
Nicola yawned and tucked her body in under Danny’s arm for warmth and watched the early morning mist rise off the lake and drift along the bank where deer stood in the shallows, like ghostly apparitions. A flock of noisy water fowl flew low over the lake and disappeared in the mist that swirled like tendrils of thick smoke.
Suddenly they heard a roar in the distance. The deer startled and disappeared in the lush undergrowth; a squirrel scampered up a tree. A raccoon popped its head out from behind a pile of driftwood, looked around, and melted into the mist.
Nicola looked up. “Uh-oh,” she said. “That sounds like thunder.”
“That’s thunder all right–thunder-from-down-under. I’d know that sound anywhere.”
“What?” Nicola said as she scanned the horizon for storm clouds.
“That’s the roar of a couple of old dinosaurs. I figure there’s two, maybe three… definitely no more than three bikes.”
As the roar increased, three riders on shiny black motorcycles came around the bend, two carrying pillion passengers.
The air seemed to vibrate as the riders pulled in behind the black SUV, revved the throttle a couple of times, and cut the ignition.
When the riders dismounted and removed their helmets, Danny noticed the lead rider was a large man with a shock of curly red hair and a scruffy beard. The second, short and stocky was completely bald–whether by nature or design. The third man had a thick thatch of wavy gray hair, with diamond studs in his ears and mirrored sunglasses on a broad nose that spread across his face like a squashed banana. All three were dressed in black leather pants, solid looking boots and Black Sabbath T-shirts that clung tightly to well-defined biceps and chest muscles. Each of the men sported a tattoo of indistinguishable design on the underside of his right wrist.
The pillion passengers, both women, were dressed in a similar fashion–minus the tattoos and bulging biceps–with plain black T-shirts that molded over ample breasts. Aside from a dab of lipstick, neither wore make-up.
From their dress and demeanor, Danny ascertained they were all serious riders, not trendy yuppies who paraded their Harleys like fashion accessories.
The men wandered over to the rail where Danny and Nicola stood and nodded a greeting, while the women hung back, laughing and talking.
Danny smiled and nodded in the direction of the bikes. “Nice rides,” he said.
“Not bad,” answered the large red-headed man. Danny noticed his sunburnt face was covered in freckles with a lightning-bolt scar that ran from the corner of his left eye down his cheek and disappeared beneath a red beard sprinkled with gray.
“Mind if I take a look?” Danny asked.
“Knock yourself out,” the man said as he leaned against the old wooden rail and watched the sun come out from behind a cloud.
None of the men showed any concern at Danny, who by now was down on his haunches inspecting one of the bikes. Although nothing had been said or implied, Danny was acutely aware of the golden rule of the serious bikers–never lay hands on the machine–unless invited.
After a while, Danny stood up, rubbed the grit from his hands and wandered over to where the men were leaning against the rail, talking.
“Those are a couple of nice looking machines you’ve got,” Danny said, smiling.
“Know anything about Harleys?” the short baldheaded man asked.
“A little, I’ve got a couple myself,” he said and instantly the connection was made. The men exchanged names and were discussing bikes when the two women wandered over to Nicola and introduced themselves.
“Where are you folks from?” Dianna, the blond-headed woman Nicola estimated to be mid-forties, asked.
“I’m from San Francisco. Danny is from Australia,” Nicola told her.
“Australia. Wow. He sure is a long way from home.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Australia,” the other woman, Judith, said. She appeared to be around the same age as her friend, with curly dark hair pulled back off her face.
Danny stepped back to include the women in the conversation. “Whereabouts are you folks from?” he asked.
“We’re all from Green Bay, Wisconsin,” the bald headed man who went by the name of Rastus said with a boyish grin that seemed out of character with the shining bald pate, stocky build–and Black Sabbath T-shirt.
“Green Bay. That’s a beautiful part of the country,” Danny said.
Aside from being home to a famous football team very few people would know where Green Bay was–let alone an Australian. “Oh, you know it?” Dianna asked, surprised.
Danny smiled. “I stayed at the Bayview Hotel on Sturgeon Bay about five years ago. Magic spot right on the lake. I remember it was about this time of the year and there weren’t a lot of people around so we had the place to ourselves. It was so peaceful and quiet. At dusk we’d eat dinner on the balcony and watch the fishing boats head up the lake and in the morning we’d watch them come into the harbor as the sun was coming up, then we’d walk down to the dock and watch them unload their catch.”
“Where are you folks heading?” Jake, the red-bearded man asked.
“North to Port Kent, then we’ll take the ferry across Lake Champlain to Vermont. From there we’ll drive to Maine and head down the coast to Philadelphia where we’ll catch a flight back to San Francisco. What about you?”
“We’ve been touring down south and are heading home. Thought we’d mosey on up near the border, jump on Eleven and follow the St. Lawrence River to Thousand Islands–maybe stay a day or two, then coast along Interstate-Two to Michigan and follow the road around the lake to Pennsauken, where we’re all from.”
Danny let out a low whistle. “Wow. That sounds like a real nice ride. You’re going through some real pretty country.”
“Have you done that trip?” asked the gray-haired man who had been standing on the fringe of the group. When he removed his dark glasses and fixed his eyes on Danny, the word mesmerizing instantly popped into Danny’s head. The irises were cobalt-blue icebergs floating in a sea of white snow surrounded by long, thick black lashes that turned up at the ends, as though he had used an eyelash curler on them. Danny remembered he was the single rider, but couldn’t remember his name. Stenos, or Stingo?
“Pretty much. One time I picked up Interstate-Two in Bar Harbor on the Maine coast and finally jumped off in North Dakota just north of Williston. I traveled through some real pretty country–except for the last part.”
Judith laughed. “I take it you didn’t much like North Dakota.”
“Not particularly.” Danny hoped he hadn’t offended anyone.
“I think that would get a vote from us. We did a trip there once; dry plains and flat prairies. Not a whole lot going for it except farmland and prairie dogs.
The gray-haired man looked around. “Well, I think it’s time we hit the road,” he said and held out his hand. “It’s been real nice meeting you folks. Maybe we’ll meet up again sometime on the road. You have a good trip.”
Danny shook his hand and said, “You never know, it’s a small world out there.”
“And getting smaller all the time,” Jake added as he took hold of Danny’s hand and pumped it.
As Rastus walked away, he turned and tipped his hand to his head in a mock salute. “Maybe we’ll catch you on the wind sometime, bro.”
Danny smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. Ride safe, buddy.” He casually draped his arm across Nicola’s shoulder and watched the riders mount their bikes and clip on their helmets. As the engines revved, the pillion passengers climbed behind their rider, then turned and waved as the Harleys took off in a roar of thunder.
“Well, that’s enough excitement for one day. Time we hit the road,” Dann
y said and took hold of Nicola’s hand.
TWENTY-THREE
We worked out way down the room like a couple of celebrities in a Hollywood restaurant, stopping to speak to familiar faces–a brief greeting to some, waving to others. I spied Louanna and Chartreuse with a half-empty jumbo size box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts lying open across their laps.
“I’ll just go and say hello to the girls,” I said to an elderly couple–but Rosie stopped me mid-stride.
“No you don’t!” she said, grabbing hold of my arm. “You can’t be trusted to go anywhere near them.”
“I just want to see how the girls are doing.” And maybe sample a doughnut or two.
Rosie guided me down the room to where Susannah and Daphne were sitting in awkward silence, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Mr. Takamura was nowhere to be seen but as we passed beneath the old television set Beethoven’s Fifth played dramatically as a familiar voice-over said, ‘You are about to enter the courtroom of Judy Judith Scheindlin’, so I figured he mustn’t be too far away.
Daphne, as usual was wearing a kaleidoscope of colors: long red-and-blue-striped socks that disappeared under candy pink pedal pushers, and an apple green top cut low enough to reveal what would normally be cleavage. On her feet she wore black high heels that, for some reason, reminded me of Mickey Mouse’s friend, Minnie.
Susannah, on the other hand, with her voluminous yellow hair, heaving bosom and face made up like a painted doll, put me in mind of Dolly Parton, who, I might add, I greatly admire.
“Hey Susannah, how is the treatment going?” Rosie asked in an effort to relieve the tension between the sisters. Daphne suddenly burst into tears, grabbed her bag and hurried down the room. We sat in stunned silence as the waiting room door slammed in a gesture of finality.
Susannah looked at Rosie and raised her eyebrows in a McDonald golden arches gesture, shrugged, and said, “Does that answer your question, Hon?” She removed a shiny new copy of the latest fashion magazine from her bag and started flipping through the pages.
We decided to leave her engrossed in an air-brushed photo of the current Mrs. Trump–whoever she may be. If any of the Gabors are still around they’d be at the top of my list.
Rosie dropped into the chair next to Linda and said, “It’s nice to see you again, Linda.”
“Hello,” Linda gave her a breathy reply as she glanced warily at me out the corner of her eye.
I gave her my best smile–the one reserved for celebrities or cute guys, and said in my most caring voice, “How are you doing today, Linda?” Then I turned to Rosie and said, “Why don’t we swap seats, Hon, so I can sit next to Linda?”
Rosie handed me her bag and smiled at Linda. “Why don’t you move to my chair, Linda, so Bee can take care of you while I get changed?”
She wandered down the room, in no hurry at all, stopping to chat to people as she passed.
I patted the recently vacated chair and said to Linda, “Scrunch over and sit beside me, Linda.”
When Linda changed chairs, her body suddenly developed a list–leaning away from me.
“Now, isn’t this nice and cozy?” I said and gave her a playful nudge in the side.
Linda took a deep breath and looked up–but I could have told her she’d find no answers there, and, I never thought to warn her about the large hairy spider that had recently taken up residence behind the faded print of a mountain hanging barely six inches from her head.
It was obvious Linda was in a contemplative mood so I turned to the woman beside me and smiled, remembering how she had showed interest in my conversation with Linda, recently.
The woman was small and frail-looking with pale skin, washed-out blue eyes and had short-cropped wispy gray hair. She was wearing a plain white blouse, good serviceable calf-length gray skirt, and a pair of sensible black orthopedic lace-up shoes. Her demur dress and manner put me in mind of a nun. At the time I didn’t notice, nor did I think to enquire if she was alone or with someone else.
“How are you doing?” I asked by way of a greeting.
The woman held out her hand. “How do you do, my name is Grace.” Her deep voice belied her small statute.
“Well, hello, Grace, my name is Bee.” When I took hold of her hand I found her grip to be surprisingly firm and figured it was probably from scrubbing hard concrete floors at the convent. She probably had calluses on her knees but the modest length of her skirt gave up no secrets.
“Yes. I know,” she said with a sweet angelic smile as she pulled me towards her and elbowed me in the ribs. “When I heard about your sexual exploits I started having hot flushes.” Grace pulled a white lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and started to fan her face. “I didn’t realize it was so hot in here,” she said.
I’ve had the odd hot flush myself, even though I’m far too young to be menopausal, so I happen to know a little about them. “Maybe you need to up your HRT dose,” I offered.
The frail nun jabbed me in the ribs so hard it brought tears to my eyes and I almost toppled off the chair. Scrubbing convent floors obviously has its advantages.
Grace leaned towards me and said, “Oh, you are a character.” Even though she had a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips, I kept an eye on those weapons that paraded as elbows, and stayed at a safe distance.
I looked up and saw my sister coming towards us. “You were quick,” I said as she sat beside Linda and demurely arranged the washed-out hospital gown.
“Hon. This here is Grace,” I said by way of an introduction.
Rosie leaned across and extended her hand. “Hello, Grace, it’s so nice to meet you. My name is Rosemary, but everyone calls me, Rosie–or Hon.”
“If it’s okay with you I’d like to call you Hon. It’s the name my grandmother used to call me when I was young.”
Rosie smiled. “Then I’ll consider it a privilege.”
I made a mental note to warn her about those diamond-drill elbows.
“I was just telling your sister I would love to hear more about her sexual exploits,” Grace said, straight-faced.
Rosie spluttered. Linda moaned.
“You okay, Linda?” I asked.
Linda chewed on her bottom lip and said nothing.
Rosie looked from me to Linda not sure what was going on, then smiled at the frail, diminutive figure and said, “While you’re at it, Grace, why don’t you ask her about all the men she’s got hanging around?”
Linda gave her a sideways look.
“Didn’t she tell you about those weird men, Linda?”
“What do you mean, all those weird men? There are only a few!” I said with an indignant ring to my voice.
“That would have to be the understatement of the year.”
I noticed Grace grab the magazine off Linda’s lap and fan her face furiously.
“Tell them about the fat guy in the park,” Rosie said.
“What fat guy?”
“You know; the one on the bench with evil intent in his heart.”
“How do you know he had evil intent in his heart? He may have been a very nice person.”
“Nice! He was awful. And, what about that guy at the mailbox? You never did explain who he was.”
“What man?”
“You know the one in the blue Taurus.”
“He was just a man, with a dog–remember.”
As the make-shift fan flapped faster and faster I noticed small beads of perspiration form above Grace’s top lip. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the thumb on Linda’s right hand disappear inside her mouth.
“Then there’s that couple in the restaurant?” my sister demanded.
“What about them?”
“What were they doing?”
“What do you think they’d be doing in the restaurant?” The silence was loaded–I allowed no room for contradiction.
“Mrs. Albertson,” the nurse’s high-pitched voice cut through the heat and the whirr, and the harrumphs, and the sighs of exasper
ation–and the sudden loud snap of a polyester nail–Oh! Poor Linda!
As Rosie disappeared into the treatment room, I looked over at Grace–and shrugged.
“Tell me about the sex, Bee?” she asked her eyes fever bright as she leaned in for the kill.
*****
Nicola nodded in time with the music, her feet tapping to the rhythm as she gazed out the window at deer standing beneath the skeletal limbs of a large tree. She was thinking about last night when Danny’s voice intruded into her thoughts and dragged her back to the present.
“Shame we don’t have time to drive to Canada, the border’s only a couple of hours north of here,” he said.
“I’ve never been to Canada. Have you?” Nicola said.
“I’ve been to Vancouver and Vancouver Island a couple of times and up through the Rockies to Banff, Lake Louise and Jasper. I even went to the Calgary stampede and had one hell of a time.”
Now that summer vacation was over, the roads were almost devoid of traffic as they drove past corn fields, disused railway stations and pine plantations. The smell of humus from rotting leaves hung in the air, pungent and earthy.
On the western shore of the lake, they passed an old storage shed with wood so rotten the building had collapsed in on itself. A piece of farm machinery, rusted from age and disuse, lay abandoned in a nearby field where weeds grew unchecked, and creeper vines choked anything they could ensnare. On a back lot an almost derelict two story clapboard farmhouse listed precariously leeward as gray plumes of smoke rose from the chimney. In a neighboring paddock, an aged Appaloosa stallion, once tall and proud, limped lamely across the barren earth as carrion birds circled overhead.
A half-mile down the road, a black crow sat atop an ancient split rail fence that threatened to collapse from age and neglect, its coal-black eyes fixed on something nearby.
Murder and Mayhem Page 17