Shepherd's Watch

by Angie Counios

  “Mow?”

  “Plow, mow, whatever… he disappeared into thin air. Or the two hunters that got separated and one of them was never found.”

  “Yeah? Maybe he was abducted by your aliens.”

  “Or there was this kid in the ’90s who went into the woods and never came back—”

  “Charlie, stop. Really, what’s this all about?”

  “Stuff happens to people all the time. Like there could be a geocaching murderer who leaves gps coordinates to someplace online, and then someone comes searching, and hyah! They murder you with an axe.”

  “No—”

  “Or someone kills people from all the towns around here and dumps their bodies in the middle of the lake, but the town names spell out a secret message to someone else, like ‘Love Elbow Dildo.’ ”

  I laugh despite myself. “Dildo’s in Newfoundland.”

  “Whatever. There’s got to be something weird we can investigate—”

  “Stop.”

  “Come on, Shepherd. Don’t you miss solving mysteries, stopping bad guys. You know, the good ol’ days?”

  My smile fades. “The good ol’ days? Like when we were searching for my dead girlfriend?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Or when two other girls got murdered?’

  “Shepherd—”

  “Or maybe we should ask Robbie if he liked losing his leg to his knee and walking with a cane?”

  “Okay, enough.”

  But I’m mad now. “No, not enough. What happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Away.”

  “But why? What was so important that you had to run away from everything?”

  “Because…” He’s awkward and uncomfortable, standing up, trying to move away.

  “Because why?”

  He stares at the bookshelf full of games gathered from garage sales and handed down as gifts through the years. He finally relents, turning to meet my eyes. “Because maybe you’re not the only one who lost someone.”

  Wait, what? My glare softens and I feel like we just cut each other to the bone. “Charlie…?”

  He shifts away, shaking his head. “Shepherd, don’t. Don’t give me that shitty sympathy face.”

  “But—”

  “Nope. Not having it.” He pauses, head tilting to the side, studying the shelf, “Wait. Shit, is that a cribbage board? I haven’t played that in forever!”

  He’s moved on. His guard is up again, and I have to accept it.

  “You want to have a game?”

  “Hells yeah!”

  chapter 11

  Two games later, we’re tied, with him winning the first and me skunking him bad in the second. Now we’ve gotten ser-ious, studying our choice of discards carefully. It’s his deal, so I start.

  “Four.”

  “Seven.”

  “Ten.” I take my points.

  “Fifteen.” Charlie smiles, moving his peg two spaces.

  “Twenty-five.”

  Charlie’s face crumples. “Go.”

  I take my point, enjoying the moment. I barely hear the door squeak before Ollie rushes Charlie.

  “Hey, boy!” he exclaims, breaking from the game to greet the dog with a fur-ruffling back scratch. Ollie twists around, plopping down on Charlie’s feet to claim him.

  Mom and Dad are right behind and they seem happy to see our new guest.

  “Charles! What a surprise!” Mom moves in as if to hug him but has a moment of hesitation and steps back. “How’ve you been?”

  “All right,” he says.

  With Mom beside him, I notice that he’s grown as well.

  “Charlie.” Dad steps forward and offers his hand to Charlie, who shakes it firmly. “Good to see you.”

  “Are you hungry?” Mom wants to know.

  “No, Mrs. Shepherd. I found myself one of those delicious muffins and a piece of cheese.”

  Mom scrutinizes me like I should have offered.

  Charlie notices. “Don’t blame your son. I helped myself.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did.”

  “He didn’t really offer me much of a chance,” I interject.

  Charlie catches my eye and winks.

  “What is that gorgeous smell?” says Dad, going to the coffee maker.

  Charlie beats him to it, grabbing a mug to pour him a cup.

  “That’s nice.”

  I smile. “Your beans, prepared by a master barista.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” Charlie goes outside and comes back lugging a big backpack that has years and miles on it. He digs down into it and pulls out a one-pound bag of coffee beans.

  “I got this for you, Mr. Shepherd. Something to drink while reading.”

  Dad glances at the bag. “Seattle? Very nice.” He nods in approval.

  “And this is for you.” Charlie hands Mom a small package fastened with a twine bow. She unwraps it to find a tiny pinecone on a chain.

  “There’s an artist in the British Columbia Interior who makes these cool original pieces of jewelry out of things she finds in nature.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Mom exclaims, admiring it.

  I notice Charlie’s not dragging anything else out of his pack. “Where’s my gift?”

  “Uh, your opportunity to bask in my presence?’

  “Nice,” I say, rolling my eyes, “do you have a gift receipt so I can return it?”

  “Watch your manners, Anthony,” Mom scolds.

  I don’t need to see Charlie to know he loves it.

  Dad takes a seat, coveting his warm cup of brew. “So, you’ve been travelling out West?”

  “A bit.”

  “And what brought you this way to our place?” Mom’s tone is caring but inquisitive.

  Charlie shrugs—his standard answer for everything. “Hadn’t seen you all in a while and I thought I’d come by.”

  “Are you staying at the campground?” Dad and Mom are bouncing the questions back and forth; it’s a friendly version of good cop, bad cop.

  “Actually, I was wondering if you would mind me pitching my tent down by your firepit.”

  “Nonsense. Anthony has space in his room.”

  This comes as a surprise. “Wait, what?” Bunking with Charlie is the last thing I want.

  “Are you sure? I never want to overstay my welcome.” He sounds like a grown-up, scheming his way in. I’m certain this was his plan all along.

  “Nonsense,” Mom says again. “You’re welcome here as long as you like.”

  Well played, Charlie Wolfe, well played.

  chapter 12

  Now that Charlie’s sticking around, Mom asks us to go pick up some tinfoil to help make supper.

  “Sure…” I agree. “Where’s the keys?”

  “Slow down, Steve McQueen—” Mom says.

  “Who?”

  I hear Dad groan from the living room.

  “You’re not going to town,” she says. “You can get it at the store down by the dock.”

  “But it’s expensive.”

  “And convenient, and doesn’t involve sending you two off in a car. Supper won’t be long and Heather’s already on her way back from town.”

  Charlie pipes up, “The docks? C’mon, Shepherd, that’s got to be only a five-minute walk.”

  With Charlie siding with my folks, I give in. “All right. Let’s go.”

  chapter 13

  As we walk, Charlie takes his phone out. He seems disappointed. “What’s with the Wi-Fi around here?” he asks, waving his phone in the air, trying to get a signal.

  “There isn’t any.”

  “Yeah… what’s that about?”

  “Some plac
es don’t have any.”

  “But why?”

  I glance at him. “Because there are no towers.”

  “I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t they put any up?”

  “There’s one on the other side of the lake. You can sometimes catch a signal down by the water.”

  “That’s dumb.”

  “It’s about enjoying the peace.”

  “Peace isn’t a place, Shepherd.”

  “Okay, Obi Wan.”

  “Don’t you care if you can’t get in touch with people while you’re here?”

  “It’s about leaving the city behind. Getting close to nature.” That’s what my parents say all the time, anyway.

  “Sure. I get the nature thing, but no Wi-Fi at all? It’s isolating.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “I just think that it’s weird to be out here and have no way of making contact. It’s uncivilized. Primitive.”

  “You don’t leave the city very often, do you?”

  “I do.” He seems offended by the suggestion.

  “Oh, yeah, like your trip out West.”

  He stares at me, smiling, not saying anything.

  Guess I’m going to have to ask. “So what were you doing out there?”

  “Never thought you’d ask, Shepherd, but there you go, being a big boy. I’ve trained you well.”

  “You didn’t answer the question, Charlie.”

  “No. No, I didn’t,” he says, and stays quiet for the rest of the trip to the store.

  chapter 14

  The local resort store is only open in high season and is filled to the rafters with the weirdest collection of stuff the summer campers and cabin people might need. It resembles a small log cabin with a screened window walk-up where you can order ice cream. Inside, tall shelves hold every necessary camping, fishing, hiking, boating, and grocery item anyone could ask for. A sign hanging behind the counter announces that they have fishing licenses for sale.

  Freddy Bears, the guy who owns the shop, enters through a door at the back that leads to his sleeping quarters. Bears isn’t his real last name—no one will tell me why people call him that, but he’s had it for as long as I’ve known him. He plops down on the stool by the register. He’s a big guy, always ready to talk Dad’s ear off with some story, but he’s always seemed a little unfriendly towards me. I’m not quite sure if it’s a racist thing, a kid thing, or a little of both.

  “Hey, Mr. Bears.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Charlie’s scanning the aisles and I immediately worry he’s going to rip something off, so I beeline straight for the tinfoil and take it to the till.

  “That it?”

  “Yup.”

  I look for Charlie to make sure he’s still on the up-and-up, but he’s right beside me, dumping a handful of items on the counter.

  “These too.”

  I stare down at what he’s brought over. “What is this?”

  He points. “That’s a road flare, that’s a bear banger to scare them away, and that is Tannerite, which is an explosive.”

  “An explosive?”

  “Well, a binary explosive. You mix it and it’s safe, but if you hit it with something like a bullet—” he makes a gesture with his hands that implies a big bang.

  “That legal?”

  Charlie gets a devilish grin. “Oh, yeah.”

  Freddy runs it through the till. “That’ll be $95.”

  I shoot Charlie a look, but he’s already pulling out his wallet. “Allow me.”

  chapter 15

  Outside the store, Charlie takes his phone out of his pocket, taps away at it a couple of times and shoves it back in his pocket, frustrated. “Can we please search for a signal?”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “C’mon, man. I need to stay connected.”

  “With who? Who do you need to talk to?”

  “I got my peeps.”

  “I can’t imagine you with peeps.”

  “You know: blogs, comments, forums, subs…?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know—at all.”

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you can live in this godforsaken forest.”

  Charlie and I walk down the hill toward the waterfront, but I regret it immediately. An rcmp patrol boat is waiting at the docks while a couple of officers load supplies. A marked 4x4 truck and trailer pulls over to a grassy area that serves as a parking lot.

  Charlie grins. “You know what? I take it all back. Things just got interesting.”

  Seeing Charlie and the police in the same vicinity worries me. “Let’s leave them alone and check for a signal down by our dock.”

  “Come on, Shepherd, aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “No not at all.”

  Charlie ignores me and walks over to the officer who’s just climbing out of the truck.

  I keep my distance, leaving him to his conversation. Charlie’s nodding a lot and the cop hands him a sheet of paper, which he studies before folding and sliding it into his back pocket. When he’s done, he comes back to where I’m standing.

  “Country cops are so much nicer.”

  That he has an opinion on it astounds me. “I’ve never had the opportunity.”

  “Oh, yeah. If I were to walk up to one in the city, they’d immediately be suspicious.”

  “Well, look at you.”

  He ignores me. “Of course, I still don’t trust any of them, but they sure act nicer here.”

  “What’d he have to tell you?”

  “The cop in the city?”

  He’s just messing with me now. “What was on the paper? A coupon for doughnuts?”

  “That’s a terrible stereotype, man, but I have to admit, a doughnut sure sounds good right about now.”

  We walk away from the store back toward the cabin.

  “Come on, Charlie. What did he say?”

  “They said they were searching for a man in his late thirties named Terry.” He grabs the paper from his back pocket and hands it to me. “Do you recognize him?”

  I unfold a missing poster for some dude, Terry Butler, who wears glasses, a baseball cap, and a little facial scruff—basically like every other guy in this area.

  “Maybe he just took off for the weekend.”

  “He’s been missing for over a week. Friday was the last time anyone saw him. They found his boat out by the bridge, but he wasn’t in it.”

  I think back to yesterday when I was swimming and saw the crowd of boats out there. “Wait. Is that why you’re here?”

  Charlie turns to me, shocked by the suggestion. “No!”

  “Really? You didn’t know anything about him?”

  “No, Shepherd, what do you take me for?”

  “So you’re not here for some big adventure in the woods?”

  “Of course not. I came to see you and your folks.”

  I hope that Charlie’s being honest, that he’s not searching for anything other than a decent cell signal. I’m hoping the rest is coincidence.

  I hand back the poster as we approach the cabin.

  “But you know,” he says, “it is interesting that this guy ends up missing—”

  “No,” I say.

  “When you’ve got two master sleuths together again—”

  “No.”

  “Think about it,” Charlie urges, “another thrilling escapade for Shepherd and Wolfe!”

  A chill runs down the back of my neck when he says that. “No.”

  “Aww, c’mon,” he whacks my shoulder with his fist. “We might be this guy’s last hope—”

  I turn on him. “Nope, and that’s final.”

  “Jeez, Shepherd. You need to gear down.”

  “Listen. We’re going to take Mom’s tinfoi
l into the cabin and we’re not going to talk about this guy anymore. Got it?”

  “Sure, Shepherd, sure.”

  As we turn down the driveway, Charlie pulls out his phone and checks for a signal again.

  “Ha! One bar.”

  Whatever, I think.

  When we’re at the door, Charlie exclaims, “Two. No, three! The power of the future is now.” He looks at me, “I bet poor Terry wishes he had a phone with such great service right now, since there won’t be any crime-fighting duo to come save him anytime soon.” Then he snatches the tinfoil out of my hand and pushes through the doorway ahead of me.

  I hear Mom say, “Thanks, boys, for helping.”

  “Always a pleasure, Mrs. Shepherd. It’s what we do.”

  chapter 16

  Charlie stares out the window at the water. “Can we chop wood?”

  I glance at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking.

  He looks at me. “You have a firepit, right? Let’s get it ready for tonight.”

  I’m immediately suspicious that he wants to get me alone to convince me to do something about this missing guy, Terry, but by the time I’m out the door, he’s already down the stairs, axe in hand, shirt yanked off. He’s not lean but built solid, and I’d like to know his magic formula for transforming doughnuts into muscle. There’s a tattoo of a compass on his left pectoral.

  “Where’s your shirt, Chuck?”

  “It’s hot. I only have two shirts and I prefer not doing laundry. And it’s Charlie. Or Mr. Wolfe. Or Major Tom.”

  I’m sure if I check my phone, he’s already changed his name in my contacts to match.

  He walks over to the woodpile and grabs a log, being selective, like he’s choosing fruit at the grocery store. He hauls a piece of firewood up, puts it down, pulls another, then puts the first one back.

  “Are you going to—”

  “Give me a minute.”

  I step away, raising my hands in surrender. He still hasn’t mentioned the missing guy, but it’s not like him to leave something alone.

  Finally, he picks up a piece of wood and stands it vertically on the ground. It tips over. He stands it up again, slowly taking his hand away before clutching at it again as it starts to teeter.