“Sure you do. Tons more than tiramisu,” I say sarcastically.
Charlie comes back with our cones and a handful of napkins.
“What’d you get?” I ask him.
“Pistachio. Everyone disses it, but it’s a classic.”
“It’s simply misunderstood?” I offer.
“Exactly!”
It isn’t until we’re on our way back to the beach that Heather steals up beside him and whispers a quiet, “Thank you, Charlie.”
We return to the blanket and munch on our cones in silence. I finish first and toss my napkin in the garbage before venturing out into the water again.
“Yo, Shepherd. Wait up,” Charlie calls, sloshing through the water toward me.
I look back over my shoulder to where Heather’s still sitting, finishing her ice cream. “You really like to push her buttons, don’t you?”
“Who?”
“My sister.”
He glances back. “What? No. Wait, I’m aggravating her?”
I scrutinize him, trying figure out if he’s messing with me.
He cracks a smile. “Yeah, maybe a little. She really doesn’t like me.”
“Well, you do tend to get me in shit all the time.”
He sighs “Yeah, but it’s for a good cause.” He looks across the water toward our cabin. “You think the cops are done processing the site?”
“Where we found the body? Probably.”
“Think they believed the drugs angle?”
“I think the big bag of cash you left probably helped.”
“Yeah, about that. You need to hide stuff better.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice.”
“Yeah, yeah…” He stops as a wave splashes up against his trunks.
I can tell he’s nervous about what might be lurking below the surface. “You’re going to have to accept your fate sooner or later and dive in,” I say.
“I’m starting to feel sorry for you, Shepherd. Even us poor kids had the chlorinated city pools, while you were forced to swim in creature-infested waters.”
“Well, thank you for the sympathy,” I say before diving deep into the water and popping up halfway to the buoys. “Come on, man. The fish aren’t going to bite.”
“Maybe. But the leeches will.”
“Your fear of this lake is stupid.”
Charlie squints at me, the sun bright in his eyes. “All right, here’s the deal. I’ll race you to the buoys, and if I win, I get to do something I want.”
I stare him down. “Within Mom and Dad’s rules?”
“Whatever they’ll allow us,” he agrees.
He’s got to have something up his sleeve and I know he’ll twist my words to his advantage, but so long as Mom and Dad have the final say, I can probably keep us out of trouble.
I barely get the chance to say, “Deal,” before he dives and swims fast toward me. I turn and plunge into the water myself, making long, swift strokes. I’m hoping that he’s not going to catch up, but the bigger waves out this far smack into me and slow me down. I drop further under the water, trying to make headway against the current, but when I come up for air, Charlie’s right there on my tail.
Hard as it is to believe, I might not win this.
Charlie’s got strong form and punches through the waves with ease. I haven’t got much left in my arms and instead focus my strength in my legs, kicking hard. We’re side by side as we near the buoy and reach for it at the same time.
“Tie!” I yell.
“Thought I had you,” he says, breathing hard.
“Yeah, not so much.”
“Fine.” He leans back and floats on the water, staring up at the sky.
I’ve been mulling it over and now I get to the point. “You don’t think Terry’s death had anything to do with drugs, do you?”
“Nope.”
“And we’re not done yet, are we?”
“Nope.”
“Damn.”
chapter 64
The trip back from the lake is unreasonably quiet. I sit in the front and Heather drives, while Charlie stares out the back window. The more I think about Terry’s death, the more I agree with him.
For starters, the whole crime scene didn’t make sense. Charlie was right: the body was way too close to the exchange location. If Terry’s suppliers intentionally offed him, it would’ve been smarter to bury him farther out in the woods or, better yet, dump his body in some remote place. Staring out the window, I see a dozen other locations that would’ve been better: old back roads that disappear into the forest; sandy cliffs close to the water; overgrown rivers that wind out along the edges of fields; nearly collapsed old farmhouses—hell, even weighting the body and dumping it in the middle of the lake would’ve made more sense. So why bury him so close to the beach they had made their drop site?
I want to ask Charlie, but it’ll have to wait until we’re out of Heather’s earshot, so the question just churns in my head.
Maybe whoever killed Terry was in a hurry, in which case I could understand the choice to bury him quickly. But he hadn’t been reported missing until last Saturday and even then the posters said he’d been missing for a week already. Which means that whoever killed him had nearly two weeks to dispose of his body, plenty of time to do whatever they thought was necessary to cover up the crime.
Charlie leans forward in his seat. “Do you think your parents would let us take the canoe out?”
Heather eyes him in the mirror. “And where would you be taking this canoe?”
“I don’t know. Along the shoreline?”
She studies him. “You’re done chasing after missing guys, you know.”
He nods, smiling. “Of course.”
“Any other mysteries you might want to share?” she asks, glancing over at me and catching me off guard.
“Well, Charlie was telling me there’s a high incident of ufo sightings—” My grin is sarcastic.
“And don’t forget that ghost road…” Charlie puts in.
“This isn’t The Mystery of Skull Island—” she says with a look of exasperation.
Charlie perks up. “There’s a Skull Island?”
She glares. “Okay, enough.”
I look back and see the flash of Charlie’s smile.
Yup. Definitely a button-pusher.
chapter 65
“Why do you need the canoe?” Mom asks.
“Because we’re going stir crazy here!” I say.
“You’re the ones who put yourselves in this position.”
She’s got a point. Everything she says makes sense. I’ve been burning bridges ever since Charlie showed up. Well, lighting them on fire, anyway.
“Anthony, we can’t keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you really understand?” She waves Dad over. “We worry about you. We worry about your safety.”
Dad sits down beside me. “Everything Charlie does seems dangerous.”
“It isn’t, though. He just…” I don’t really know how to explain it to them. “He actually cares.” Their faces tell me they aren’t convinced. “Really, he does. Only, he goes about it all wrong.”
“That’s an understatement,” Dad mutters.
“Ben…” Mom stops herself. “The longer he stays, the more we realize we don’t really know him. We don’t know if he has your best interests at heart.”
I think he does, but I don’t say anything immediately, and I wonder if I really believe it.
“Anthony, I know what he did to find Sheri may have saved lives, but—”
I have to say something. “I think he lost someone in his life and he’s doing what he can to make up for it.”
She considers this. “Maybe, but chasing after people isn’t going to help him brin
g them back.”
Dad leans in. “And while he’s chasing after these monsters, who’s going to get hurt?”
That hits me hard. “I don’t know.”
Mom pulls me close and gives me a hug. I feel big and awkward in her arms, but that doesn’t stop her and I’m sure if Charlie is watching this, he’ll give me a hard time about it later.
Dad comes in for a hug as well. “I’m glad you asked permission. We’ll let you take the canoe,” he says at last. “But don’t go far.”
Mom glances at him. “And no going where the police are. Let them do their job.”
“Okay.”
chapter 66
Charlie and I pull the canoe out into the water. He hops in the front and I take the back so I can steer.
As we push off into the calm surface, Charlie says, “This is how it should be done. Float above all those slimy little monsters.”
I rock the boat. “Oooh! Hopefully, we won’t tip.”
“You do that and I’ll be sure you don’t come out of the water alive.”
I actually believe he might make good on this threat, so I counter, “But if I’m dead, you won’t have someone to solve mysteries with.”
“Yeah, then I could show my real potential for… pulling off the perfect crime!”
I splash water at him with my paddle. “Like not burying the body where it might be found?”
He nods. “I don’t think whoever buried Terry expected two guys and a dog to be nosing around.”
“There had to have been a dozen better places—”
“Whoever buried him didn’t kill him.”
I’m surprised by Charlie’s statement. “You sound certain.”
“Because I am.”
I want to understand Charlie’s reasoning, but he won’t explain anything to me until he’s ready.
He points with his paddle, “Head to the right.”
“I promised Mom and Dad we weren’t going anywhere near where we found the body.”
“We’re not.”
He’s telling the truth. We move past the jut of land with the stray logs where Charlie dumped the bag of money.
“So, where are you taking us?”
“Further upstream.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t stop paddling, but he slows down. “The day we found the body was Wednesday, right?”
“Yes.”
“The last Wednesday of the month. When you visit Sheri’s grave.”
Now my paddling stalls. “How…?” I remind myself that this is Charlie. “You really need to not be so weird all the time.”
Charlie lifts his oar out of the water and turns around on the bow seat. “Hey, it’s my lot in life. I accept it.” The canoe starts to drift with the current. “My point is that last week was the third Friday of the month and Terry disappeared the week before.”
“Okay?” I don’t know where he’s going with this.
Charlie sighs. “Remember? Miranda told us that he used to go out to the lake with his buddy every third Friday of the month like clockwork, which I’m assuming was the regular night he did his drop-offs.”
“Right. But he went out on the lake the week before that.”
“So the delivery goons wouldn’t have been there.”
“Then who killed him?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
Once we get past the place where we found Terry’s body, Charlie lifts his paddle out of the water and lays it across the bow, scanning the water and the shoreline. He’s looking for something, but I’m guessing he won’t know what it is until he sees it, so I don’t bother asking. I stay quiet and keep paddling, hoping to help the cause.
As we move farther away from Old Fire Tower Road, the land rises above us and steep sand cliffs block any access to the woods. Roots stick out in snarls; large birds have built nests in their hollows. Ahead, a section of cliff has collapsed; grey mud forms a long narrow triangle down to the lake.
“Must be an underground water system,” I point.
“Look at you, Shepherd, using your observational skills.”
It feels like a diss. “You know, you don’t have to be a prick all the time.”
He doesn’t respond and continues studying the shore.
The edge of the cliff drops down to the water; thick undergrowth restricts access to the trees beyond. The water is getting shallower, and when I look over the side of the canoe, I see minnows race in a long line through the thin seaweed that stretches far past us.
A strip of sand appears on the lakefront and a thin beach comes into view. We coast along in less than two feet of water. Lengthy streaks of purple and golden sand ripple below us.
“Do you know what makes it that colour?” Charlie asks.
I know the answer, but I’m not talking.
“You pouting back there, Shepherd?”
“You can’t have it both ways, man.”
“Fine. I’m sorry,” he says.
But I’m not going to make it that easy.
Finally he turns to me. “Seriously, your insight is invaluable.”
“Why is it almost everything that comes out of your mouth makes you sound like an asshole?” I gripe.
“I don’t know. It’s what makes me my own unique butterfly.”
He wins. I can’t help but laugh. Still, I have to add, “You know, my parents have almost had enough of you.”
“Happens to most people sooner or later.”
“You could try a little harder,” I suggest.
“Yeah…” He doesn’t sound convinced. “But that takes effort and I only have so much to go around.”
“Don’t be surprised if they kick you out at some point,” I say bluntly.
“Your parents? Never. They like me too much. I got a feeling for these things.” He faces the front of the bow again and takes up the oar. “So, are you going to tell me why the sand is purple?”
This guy never stops.
“Fine. Geologists don’t know for sure, but they think it’s garnet deposited by the glaciers—”
“Wait, shut up. Look!” He points and, although I’m annoyed, I see what he’s showing me.
Three blue coolers lie on the beach ahead.
chapter 67
We pull onto the shore and drag the canoe above the logs. Charlie walks over to the first cooler and studies it before prying it open with a piece of drift wood and his shoe.
Water pours out.
“I think it’s a dead end, man.”
He goes to the second one and pops it. More water.
“Told you. Somebody just abandoned them.”
He ignores me and goes to the third.
He cracks it, but I can’t see what’s inside from my angle.
“Boom,” Charlie says.
“What?”
He reaches in and pulls out a sopping wet convenience store bag with a white envelope inside it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I exclaim.
He peers inside the envelope. “Oh, it gets better.” He pulls out two pieces of drenched paper that tear as he pulls them apart. He hands one to me.
“Paycheques?” The ink is indecipherable, but I can just make out the account-holder’s name: Huber Motors. “You think these are Terry’s?”
Charlie nods. “We found his money—maybe he tried to pay off his suppliers with them?”
I shake my head. “Every time you think the guy can’t get more pathetic, he goes one better. Or worse.” I survey the rest of the beach. “So, you figure he was here?”
“Seems like it. The question is why? The meet-up was back there,” he motions the way we’ve come, “near Old Fire Tower Road.” He climbs up the small bank toward the trees. “The undergrowth is pretty thin around here.”
Beep boop b
ing.
Charlie pulls out his phone. “Seriously, of all places, this is where I get reception?” He scrolls through his messages, momentarily distracted.
I scramble up the bank after him. “Do you think Terry was meeting someone else here?”
“Maybe.” He stares at his phone as he steps further into the trees.
“Charlie?” I call out, trying to distract him from his phone, “what do you see?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Charlie!”
He glances up at me, annoyed.
“Will you focus? What do you see?” I gesture around.
He sighs, then slides his phone back in his pocket and walks parallel to the beach, examining the ground and the trees. Occasionally he looks further into the woods or back toward me. I decide to go in the opposite direction, following his lead.
Nothing really stands out.
The trees are mainly pine. Small leafy plants cover the ground. The occasional mushroom pops through, and blueberry and raspberry plants grow in small clumps in the brush. A deer path winds deep into the forest, but when I look back toward the water, I see that the trail ends by an immense fallen tree. I walk toward it. The bark on the top side of the tree is worn smooth, and I take a step back to assess it before sitting on the tree’s polished surface. I think the lights of the resort across the lake would be visible from here at night.
A tuft of white plastic sticks out from a little hollow beneath the tree trunk. I lean down and tug, pulling out a white plastic garbage bag. I unwrap it to find a half-burned copy of The Great Gatsby.
“Shepherd!” Charlie yells, standing ankle deep in the water. “Look.” He reaches into the water and pulls out a pair of glasses, the unbroken lenses glinting in the sunlight.
“Someone lost them?” I ask.
He sloshes toward the boat. “I don’t think it was just someone.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out the notice he got from the police officer at the dock. Terry’s wearing glasses in the photo.
He compares the frames in his hand with the glasses in the photo. “They sure look the same.”
“There’s more,” I say, taking him to the fallen tree. “It’s like someone’s… thinking spot. And it doesn’t end there.” I hand him the book, showing him where I found it, and he flips through the charred and torn pages.
Shepherd's Watch Page 17