Showdown at Border Town

by Caroline Woodward

  After moving all of the walleye into the ice box, Tom tipped the box of salt, coating the fishes’ scales. Surely they would be fine until morning – or whenever Mr. Brunner returned home. He closed the lid and went back to the boat, checking one last time that all of the fish had been stored.

  The moon brightened a ragged strip of Lake Erie,

  revealing dark waves with whitecaps. Tom sat down on the edge of the fishing boat, straightening his arms out behind him. Looking up at the moon, he thought about his visit with his family. Billy’s thoughts about self-government seemed positive, yet his grandfather had been so opposed to all of it. And more importantly, he hoped that his sister would get better soon.

  The boat rocked and Tom noticed a flash of scales

  in the moonlight. He saw that a fish had slipped into the

  enclosed area where the steering wheel and speed dials were located. It was pushed up against the control center, so Tom knelt down to retrieve it. As he picked up the walleye, Tom noticed an uneven plank along the bottom of the boat. He traced his fingers along the boards, feeling a difference in height between neighbouring pieces of wood. The effect ended up creating a large square in the floor. Tom eased his index finger in between two of the odd wooden boards. There was a space. He pushed upwards on the center of the square.

  What is this?

  A series of planks lifted off the bottom of the boat.

  A trapdoor.

  But what was Bud Brunner keeping in there? He started to lift the trapdoor when a car door slammed.

  Tom immediately dropped the planks of wood, causing them to thump noticeably against the floor. He stood up and, holding the walleye in his hand, hurried out of the enclosed part of the boat. But he moved back into the shadows when he saw them.

  Bud and Jerry were standing by the bungalow, talking. The delivery truck was parked beside them. Tom watched as Jerry opened the back of the truck. He climbed in and a few seconds later came back out, giving Bud a thumbs-up.

  Why would they be delivering fish at this time of night?

  It just didn’t make sense.

  What kind of fish store was open this late anyway?

  He then remembered what Jerry and his grandfather had both said about minding his own business and staying on task. He decided that it would be best to go and tell his boss about the extra work he had done, rather than worry about the strange delivery times.

  Still, I need to know…

  Tom dropped the walleye and crawled on his knees back to the trapdoor. In the darkness, it was difficult to find the outline of the trapdoor once again. So he began feeling along the floor for the uneven boards. He just couldn’t seem to find it again.

  “We’d better deal with that fish,” he heard Mr. Brunner say to Jerry.

  Tom’s pulse quickened. He realized that they were coming his way. He could just get out now and talk to them, but they’d see that he’d been snooping around in the front of the boat. How would he explain that?

  Then he heard Bud Brunner’s voice, closer this time: “Where did the fish go? The box is empty.”

  Tom crawled under the steering wheel, squishing himself into a tight ball and hoping that the shadows would hide him.

  “I dunno, Bud.” Tom heard footsteps on the dock and then the floor swayed. The two men stepped onto the boat. He saw them peer into the box, bewildered. “They were here when we left...”

  “I know,” Bud growled. “But someone’s been here.”

  Tom’s heart thumped, as he realized that it was only a matter of time before one of them looked inside the enclosed area. He started to inch back towards the trapdoor area, sliding his knees as quietly as possible. He could hide in there. He could hide in there until they left and later explain everything to them.

  Tom glided his fingers along the boards, lying face down on his stomach. Bud and Jerry continued to discuss the missing fish. If they looked over at him, he would be caught.

  His right hand brushed along a raised piece of wood.

  Found it!

  Tom, still lying flat on the floor, turned his body so that he was facing away from the entrance. He kept his hand on the opening to the trapdoor and pried it open. He was a quarter of the way there.

  Tom’s stomach lurched when he heard Jerry call out.

  “Hey! There’s a fish in there.”

  He froze, lying on the floor of the boat and holding the trapdoor partly open. It was the walleye that he had dropped.

  Stupid fish.

  Tom heard footsteps, knowing that Mr. Brunner and Jerry were examining the fish near the enclosed area.

  “Just dropped one, I guess,” Bud concluded.

  Tom held his breath and tried to remain entirely still.

  Don’t look over here. Don’t look over here.

  He heard more footsteps, closer, before Bud said, “Yes, someone’s been here all right. And they sure won’t be coming back.”

  Something heavy crashed down against the back of Tom’s skull. He lost his grip on the trapdoor, sending it plummeting shut. His head smashed against the floor and his vision blurred. The walls spun. Finally, his eyes closed.

  Tom lost consciousness.

  Chapter 12

  Vanished

  Jerry watched his boss rush out of the bungalow carrying rope and some old cloth. “You shouldn’t have hit him so hard. He’s only a kid.”

  “I had to. You know that.” Bud shoved the rope into Jerry’s hands. The moon lit their activities as they worked. “Now come and help me.”

  “Why don’t we just let him go? He’s learned his lesson.” Jerry looped the rope around his arm.

  “The kid knows too much. He’ll go running to the Martin house and tell them what he’s seen. Come on.”

  ***

  Paul opened his eyes, slowly, and felt a thankful surge that it was still summer. He folded his comforter back and stretched his arm towards the nightstand. Glancing toward Tom’s cot, he noticed how well-made it was. In fact, it looked like it hadn’t been slept in.

  Paul sat up, now alert. Where was he? He could have gone to work early – he was so motivated to get extra pay – but Paul hadn’t heard any alarm clock like he usually did. He hurriedly dressed and rushed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. A few breakfast dishes and some cereal were laid out on the table, but the chairs were all pushed in neatly. He then peered into the kitchen.

  No one.

  Paul made his way outside.

  “There you are, Mom,” he said. Mrs. Martin was kneeling in the garden, pruning a red rose bush with gloved hands. She had a sunhat on her head and looked so at ease in her garden. Meanwhile, Mary Anne was sitting in the swing, rocking it back and forth with her legs.

  “Isn’t this lovely?” she said pointing to the rose’s

  impressive bloom.

  “Have you seen Tom this morning?” Paul ignored the rose question. “He wasn’t in our room when I woke up.”

  His mother put down her clippers. “Oh no, I haven’t seen him. I assumed he wasn’t working this morning, since he was over at Mr. Brunner’s so late last night.”

  “Well he sure isn’t upstairs.”

  Mrs. Martin stood up, brushing soil off her knees. “Let’s go ask your dad. I’ve been gardening for a while, so I suppose I could have missed him.”

  They both walked into the cottage and Paul started in the direction of Mr. Martin’s study. Mrs. Martin pulled open the closed door when they got there.

  “Paul,” Mrs. Martin said to her husband. Her husband looked up from his work. “Have you seen Tom?”

  “No,” Mr. Martin said, putting down his pen. “Not since last night, I guess.”

  “His bed was empty this morning and neatly made, like he was ne
ver there,” said Paul.

  “He must have just gone to work,” Mr. Martin reasoned.

  “Then why didn’t either of you see him go?” Paul questioned. “And why did the cot and the sheets look exactly like they did last night?”

  “And he was out extremely late last night,” Mrs. Martin added. “I can’t imagine that he would have had enough energy to get up that early.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine.” Mr. Martin picked up his pen once again.

  “Why don’t you and Paul go over to Bud’s and see if he’s there? I’ve got a lot to do, Nell. I’ve been given something that needs my immediate attention.”

  Mrs. Martin looked at her husband, her blue eyes fiery. Paul was immediately reminded of a story that was often told about her. Paul’s parents had been walking on Ouellette Street in Windsor and Mr. Martin was talking about a recent accomplishment of his. Mrs. Martin, having heard enough about the importance of his work, sat down on the curb and refused to get up until he ‘came down to earth.’

  “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

  “All right.” Mr. Martin stood up reluctantly and Paul rushed to put on his sneakers. Together, Paul and his father headed out the front door, pushed the gate open and started walking along the road. The sun hadn’t made its full ascent yet, but it still managed to beat down intense rays of heat.

  Paul and Mr. Martin arrived at Mr. Brunner’s bungalow and walked through the open gate.

  “Should we just look for him?” Paul asked.

  In answer, Mr. Martin approached the bungalow, knocked on the door and waited, but no one answered.

  “Well, I guess we can just go and look down by the dock.”

  They walked down to the wooden dock, dress shoes and sneakers squashing long blades of grass. Tom wasn’t there and neither was anyone else for that matter. They climbed up onto the dock and peered into the empty fishing boat that was floating in the lake.

  “Morning, Mr. Martin.”

  Paul and Mr. Martin quickly turned around to face Bud Brunner who was rummaging around in an icebox at the side of the bungalow.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Mr. Martin swiftly crossed the dock and shook Mr. Brunner’s hand. Paul followed and stood at his side.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “For coming on to your property like this. We knocked on your door, but no one answered.”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I was just out in the shed. Puttin’ away the salt that I used on the fish.” He closed the lid of the ice box.

  “The reason we’re here, is that we were hoping to be able to see Tom very briefly.”

  “Is he here?” Paul couldn’t help himself from asking.

  “Oh.” Mr. Brunner tapped his hand against the lid of the ice box. “I thought he would have told you, too. I just thought you would know.” He looked at the ground. “Tom left.”

  Paul’s throat tightened.

  Left? How could he just leave?

  He studied Bud as Mr. Martin asked, “Where did he go?”

  “Gone back to the reserve, I guess – to be with his family,” said Bud. “He left me a note in my mail box saying that he was quitting his job and leaving for the reserve. I just got it this morning, but I don’t know when he dropped it off.”

  “Didn’t he come to work for you last night?” Mr. Martin asked.

  “No. He could have come to drop off the note, I guess. But we never work at night. I wasn’t here. I was...over at Jerry’s. You know – my other employee?”

  “Yes, I do. Well thank you for telling us all of this.”

  Paul could not believe that his father would let it go so easily. He couldn’t imagine that Tom would actually leave without saying goodbye to them. Quitting a job that had been a challenge to get in the first place didn’t make any sense.

  “Tom didn’t turn out to be a very good employee. Putting me in a situation like this. No notice or nothing,” said Bud. He looked Mr. Martin directly in the eye. “And it was you who recommended him to me. He’ll cost me a few hundred dollars in sales. This’ll make me cut back some orders. This here,” he pointed to the ice box, “is all I have to sell for today.”

  Paul’s cheeks turned red with anger. He couldn’t stand the way Bud Brunner was talking about Tom, as if he was a failure. And he couldn’t stand the way he was trying to make his dad feel guilty.

  “I hope you find a new employee soon enough. We’d better be going, Paul.”

  Mr. Martin ushered Paul towards the door in the fence at a brisk pace and Paul stopped when they were out of earshot.

  “You can’t believe what he said, Dad. There’s no way that Tom would leave without telling us.”

  “I don’t think he would if he was thinking clearly but I do know that he’s gone through a lot lately, Paul. Think of it, his mother dying and now his sister getting polio.”

  “But –” Paul interjected.

  “So maybe he just couldn’t quite handle all of it and needed to be back with his family. I’m sure that he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt any of us, though.”

  “It’s just not possible! Let’s ask Mr. Brunner to show us the note. How do we know that he’s telling the truth?”

  Mr. Martin started walking and Paul reluctantly followed. “He doesn’t have to prove anything to us, Paul.”

  “Didn’t you see the way he avoided looking at either of us when he told us about Tom? And when he hesitated about where he was last night?”

  “Paul, I know you’re upset that Tom left so suddenly, but you’re getting worked up about small things.”

  Paul considered this. “Well, what about Mom saying that he was out late last night. How late exactly? Because where was he, if he wasn’t working for Mr. Brunner?”

  “I’m not too sure. I never actually heard him come in. I went to bed assuming that he would be coming back soon. But I guess we now know that he must have left for the reserve during the night.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why bother to come back when we were just there anyway?”

  “I don’t know, Paul.”

  “See, it just doesn’t make sense. I don’t believe what Mr. Brunner said and I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

  Mr. Martin stopped and faced his son. “Paul, don’t overreact and whatever you do, don’t go poking around where you don’t belong. Maybe he’ll contact us when he’s ready to.”

  Paul bit his lip. “I’m going down to the park for a while.”

  The two parted ways and Paul walked down the grassy slope to the park. He gained momentum, his feet thumping faster and faster against the ground, until he reached the sandy shoreline. He sat down on a rock and began throwing stones into Lake Erie. Some plummeted to the bottom after only just hitting the surface, while others quickly skipped over the water, leaving a path of mini storms behind.

  Paul needed a plan.

  Chapter 13

  Search for Answers

  He threw one final stone – smooth and soft – snapping his wrist and feeling it glide out of his hand. While the stone skipped over incoming waves, Paul was already climbing back up the slope. He arrived close to their summer home, but turned right and continued along the road to Abby’s.

  Paul walked up the driveway towards a yellow-sided cottage with a long front porch and small windows. Abby’s family lived in Windsor during the year, but spent the entire summer at their cottage, which they had purchased about five years ago. That was when Paul and Abby had met.

  Paul knocked on the robin’s egg blue door and Abby pulled it open a few seconds later, sweeping her brown hair into a ponytail with her other hand.

  “Hi, Paul,” she said, stepping outside and closing the door. “I was just going to come and find you. Your pa
rents told me about Tom’s sister – and about you going to the reserve. How’s she doing?”

  “Not too well. But there’s even more bad news now – Tom’s gone missing.”

  Abby gasped, dropping the hair that she had been tying up. Paul explained about how it was obvious Tom had not come home last night.

  “My dad and I went over to Mr. Brunner’s this morning,” he continued, “and he told us that Tom had left him a note saying that he was going back home. But I just don’t think he was telling the truth. He wouldn’t look either of us in the eye and he seemed evasive when he was telling us where he was last night.”

  “Tom wouldn’t just leave that way. I know it,” Abby said. “Your family was so kind to him – he wouldn’t have done that. If he really needed to go home, he would have told us or at the very least left a note.” Abby stopped. “Did you search your whole room?”

  Paul shook his head. “Maybe he left a note or something that I just didn’t see?”

  “Exactly,” Abby said. “Let’s go – we’ve got to make sure he’s okay.”

  Walking to the Martin cottage, Paul replayed Mr. Martin’s warning for Abby about staying out of places where they didn’t belong. He lowered his voice as they pulled open the door.

  The familiar sound of CBC radio played in the background. A voice came through the large speaker of the radio in the kitchen, crackly and distant: “And now on to local news.” Mr. Martin appeared from his study, as he usually did when the news came on. He sat down at the table and turned the dial on their tube radio. The volume increased.

  “A man was shot in downtown Windsor last night. Owen Richardson, who owns a local bar, was found dead behind his tavern at ten o’clock last night.”