Calhoun often guided wealthy out-of-staters, and some of them had mentioned dining at the Sandpiper. They all said the food was great.
He pulled into the crushed-shell parking area beside the building a few minutes after one on Saturday afternoon. He had put on freshly washed blue jeans and a clean shirt for the occasion, and he wondered if he should’ve added a necktie.
A pretty college-aged girl in a short black skirt and a white shirt greeted him at a podium inside the entry. She asked if he wanted a table or would rather sit at the bar.
“I’m supposed to meet somebody,” he said. “Man name of Dunlap?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “He’s waiting for you. Follow me, please.”
She led him through the dining room, where most of the tables were occupied, and through some French doors to a glassed-in porch that stretched across the back of the building. Beyond the wall of glass, there was a nice view of the cove, where gulls and terns wheeled in the breeze and cormorants perched on the pilings and dozens of fishing boats and pleasure craft rocked at their moorings.
The waitress led Calhoun to a table in the corner of the porch. The man sitting there had his chin in his hand and was gazing out at the water. He either didn’t notice them or was pretending he didn’t.
“Mr. Dunlap,” said the waitress quietly. “Your guest is here.”
Dunlap looked up, frowned for just an instant, and then nodded. “Mr. Calhoun?”
“Stoney,” he said.
“Good,” he said. “I’m Marty.” Marty Dunlap stood up and held out his hand. Calhoun guessed he was in his midfifties. A compact man with thinning straw-colored hair and sloping shoulders, he was wearing a white shirt and a striped tie and round rimless glasses. A suit jacket hung on the back of his chair. “It’s good to meet you finally, Stoney. Your reputation precedes you.” He looked at the waitress. “Bring Mr. Calhoun a drink.” To Calhoun he said, “What’ll you have, Stoney?”
“Cup of coffee,” said Calhoun.
Dunlap smiled at the hostess. “Okay. Coffee, then. Me, I’ll have another of these.” He held up a tall glass.
The hostess said, “I’ll tell your server,” and she left.
Dunlap and Calhoun sat down.
“You don’t drink?” said Dunlap.
Calhoun shook his head. “Not anymore. I don’t miss it a bit.”
“I don’t get down to the city much this time of year,” said Dunlap. “As you can imagine, things really start hopping at the lodge once the ice goes out. When I do get away, I always come to the Sandpiper. Best food north of Boston, if you ask me. You’ve got to try their lobster bisque.”
Calhoun nodded.
“How’s business at your shop?” said Dunlap. “I’d like to meet Kate Balaban some day. She really is a legend in Maine fishing circles.” He waved a hand and smiled. “But I guess you know that.”
“She’s a great guide,” said Calhoun. “I can tell you that.”
“You’re no slouch yourself,” said Dunlap. “Speaking of legends.” He fixed Calhoun with a hard stare, as if he expected him to argue the point.
Calhoun returned Dunlap’s gaze until the man smiled and looked out at the cove.
“I’m not very good at small talk,” said Calhoun. “You said on the phone you had a proposition for me, and I’d just as soon hear it.”
“I thought we could wait until after we’d eaten,” said Dunlap.
“Why?”
Dunlap smiled. “I don’t know. That’s the way it’s generally done.”
“How I generally do things,” said Calhoun, “is, when something needs to get done, I just go ahead and do it, get it out of the way so I can get on to the next thing.”
A blond waitress wearing tight black pants and a pale blue jersey appeared. She put a cup of coffee in front of Calhoun and a tall glass holding what looked like a gin and tonic in front of Dunlap. “Are you ready to order, gentlemen?” she said.
Marty Dunlap waved his hand. “Give us a few minutes, hon.”
She smiled and nodded. “Certainly, sir. Take your time.”
When she left, Dunlap picked up his glass, took a long gulp from it, and put it down. “So, okay, Stoney,” he said. “I told you I had a proposition for you, and here it is. I have been led to believe that you might be receptive. The fact that you agreed to meet me here seems to confirm that. Am I right?”
Calhoun shrugged. “Sure. I’m here.”
Dunlap smiled. “Excellent. Here it is. I would like to hire you away from Kate’s shop for a month, or six weeks, max, beginning as soon as possible. One of my best guides had to go home a few days ago. Some kind of family emergency involving his youngest son. Now, the thing is, Stoney, Loon Lake has a reputation to uphold. Our guides have been handpicked. We believe we have the best crew of guides in the Northeast. We pay them better than anybody, and we take care of them better than anybody. We believe that the men and women our clients spend their days with, the folks who find the fish and paddle the canoes and tell the stories and cook the shore lunches—these are the people who make or break a fishing operation.” Dunlap paused to take a sip from his gin and tonic. “Our guides come back year after year,” he said. “They are like family. When we have to replace one of them, we take the job as seriously as a corporation hiring a new CEO.”
“And you want me,” said Calhoun. “To take this poor guy’s place.”
“For a month or six weeks,” said Dunlap. “We’ve given him a leave of absence—with full pay, by the way, a sabbatical, you might call it—so you don’t need to feel too sorry for him.”
“Generous.”
“Yes. We’ll make it worth your while, too, of course.”
“Of all the guides in Maine,” said Calhoun, “you want me.”
“You’re the best,” said Dunlap.
“I’m pretty good,” said Calhoun, “but I doubt I’m the best.”
Dunlap shrugged. “Let me tell you about Loon Lake,” he said. “It’s the biggest and prettiest of the string of lakes that we fish. We built our lodge on Loon Lake.” He began to draw with his fingertip on the tablecloth. “There are seven lakes in all. They’re all connected by streams, some close to a mile long, some just a narrows at the outlet of the lake. Really, it’s one big river system that goes all the way to the sea. Up there in northwestern Aroostook County, the woods are all owned by the paper companies, except for what the government gave back to the Indians. We’ve got a ninety-nine-year lease. Virtually inaccessible except for one of those narrow roads that cut through the woods for the logging trucks. It connects us to the nearest town. We get in and out mostly with float planes, of course. Before we built our lodge—well, my grandfather built the first one back in the thirties, just a log cabin, really—these lakes were hardly ever fished.”
“Your grandfather,” Calhoun said. “So it’s a family business, and you’re—what, the third generation”
“I’m the third,” said Marty Dunlap. “My son would make it four, if he . . .” He smiled quickly.
“Your son works with you?”
Dunlap nodded. “I’m trying to teach him the business so that June and I can eventually retire from it. Robert’s a good man, but I’m not sure he’s cut out for this. He’s kind of restless, the way young people nowadays seem to be. In a big hurry to get nowhere, if you ask me.” He shook his head. “If Robert doesn’t want to keep Loon Lake going, I don’t know what will happen. I’d hate to have to sell the place. It’s part of the family, if you know what I mean, but . . .” He looked at Calhoun and shrugged.
Calhoun couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing.
Dunlap smiled quickly. “Well, anyway,” he said, “it’s still like it was a hundred years ago up there. Great fishing. Four-, five-, six-pound squaretails. Loads of big landlocked salmon. All native fish. None of the lakes’ve ever been stocked. We cherish our fish, and we treat ’em right. Fly-fishing only. Barbless hooks. All catch and release, except our guests are allowed to
kill one trophy fish per week. A lot of folks just return all their fish unharmed, but everybody catches a trophy or two. We have an arrangement with a taxidermist in Pittsburgh. He’s a true artist.” Dunlap waved his hand in the air, dismissing the taxidermist from Pittsburgh. “What we’ve got is like the Maine of the good old days, Stoney, minus the long strings of big dead fish. Gorgeous wilderness full of moose and bear and bald eagles, the best brook trout and landlocked salmon fishing outside of Labrador, and one of the nicest, most comfortable family-owned fishing lodges in the world.” Dunlap tipped up his glass and drained it. Calhoun heard the ice cubes click against his teeth. “We try to make it an attractive place for our guides. Each of them has his own private cabin. You eat the same food as the clients in the guides’ own dining room. One day off a week with use of the lodge vehicles. And, of course, we pay our guides better than anybody anywhere.”
“Sounds good,” said Calhoun.
“As you might imagine,” said Dunlap, “we charge premium rates. It’s an absolutely unique experience for a fisherman or a fishing couple. Something special for a corporate group. The fish, the food, the ambience, the wilderness, all of it. We have clients who come from all over the world, and they come every year. CEOs and prime ministers, senators and movie stars and professional athletes. For our clients, money is no object.”
“I can see why you need good guides,” said Calhoun.
Dunlap frowned. “Huh?”
“Guides who can keep their mouths shut when they hear a lot of bullshit going on.”
“Clients who don’t treat our guides with respect,” said Dunlap, “are not invited back. We have a long waiting list. We don’t need unpleasant guests.” He placed both of his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “That’s my sales pitch, Stoney. My wife and my son and I, we want you to come work with us. I was told you might be interested, and I hope that’s true. We’re prepared to pay you enough to make it awfully difficult for you to refuse, but I’m really hoping that you’d like to do this, that you’re enthusiastic about spending some time at our beautiful lodge fishing our wonderful lakes and being treated the way a professional guide should be treated.”
“I don’t go anywhere without my dog.”
Dunlap frowned. “Nobody said anything—”
“Ralph goes with me,” said Calhoun. “That ain’t negotiable.”
“I assume he’s spent time in a boat,” said Dunlap, “knows his way around people.”
“Worry about me before you worry about Ralph.”
Dunlap shrugged. “Well, okay, I don’t see a problem, then. So are we on?”
“You never mentioned what you paid.”
“I’m sorry.” Dunlap ran the palm of his hand over the top of his head. “All our guides get the same. Twenty-five hundred a week. It’s a salary. No tips, so as to discourage favoritism. Like I said before, one day a week off, which includes use of one of the lodge vehicles if you want to go to town.” He paused. “Our guides work from May one to September thirty. For most folks around here, that adds up to a fine yearly income.”
“No wonder you got the best ones workin’ for you.”
“Good pay, good working conditions,” said Marty Dunlap. “The tried-and-true formula. Robert says I overpay the guides. I keep trying to tell him, the place lives or dies on our guides.” He smiled—a bit sadly, Calhoun thought. “That’s why I worry about Robert taking over the place. He doesn’t quite get the human element. To him, I think it’s all about the bottom line.”
Calhoun nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Dunlap looked at him for a minute, as if he weren’t quite sure what Calhoun had said. Then he reached his hand across the table. “Oh, excellent. This is wonderful, Stoney. I’m delighted.”
Calhoun shook his hand.
“I’ll explain all the details over lunch,” said Dunlap. “Be sure to ask for the lobster bisque. I’m hoping you can come aboard next week. Thursday would be perfect.”
Calhoun nodded absentmindedly. He was thinking that Martin Dunlap didn’t need to give him the big sales pitch. The Man in the Suit and his buddy Mr. Brescia had given him no choice.
Now, he was thinking, came the hard part. Now he had to break it to Kate.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Calhoun got to the shop at seven thirty on Sunday morning. It was Kate’s turn to open up, and he knew she’d be there well before eight, which was the time they turned the sign on the door so that the OPEN side faced out. He could talk to her then, before they opened for business. Tell her he’d be gone for a month, no more than six weeks.
He expected her to be angry at first, but he hoped that if they spent the day together in the shop, maybe she’d have a chance to think about it, get used to the idea, cool down. He didn’t look forward to being away for all that time with Kate mad at him, although he knew it could happen that way.
When he pulled into the lot, he saw that Kate’s truck was already there. He parked beside it, and he and Ralph went into the shop.
Kate was at the clothing display, straightening out the shirts and jackets on the hangers. When the bell over the door dinged, she looked up, and when she saw Calhoun, she gave him a big smile. “Hey, Stoney. What’re you doing here at this hour? Today’s your morning to sleep in.”
“I couldn’t sleep, honey. You got your coffee?”
“Not yet. I just put it together a few minutes ago. It should be ready now. You want to fetch us a mug?”
He went to the back of the shop, poured two mugs full from the big stainless-steel urn, and brought them to where Kate was working on the clothing. He handed one of the mugs to her. “Honey,” he said, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
She arched her eyebrows at him. “Sounds ominous. Now you gonna tell me that we’re losing our lease after all?”
“Nope. Nothing like that. Let’s sit, okay?”
Kate frowned at him, then went over and sat in one of the chairs at the fly-tying bench.
Calhoun took one of the other chairs. He sipped his coffee, then put the mug down. He looked Kate in the eyes. “Only way I can tell you this is to just tell you,” he said. “Thing is, I’m going to be gone for a month, maybe six weeks. I—”
“What do you mean, gone?” she said.
“Not here,” he said. “Not living at home, not coming to the shop.”
“For six weeks?”
He nodded. “It might be that long.”
“You said got to.”
He nodded again.
“Meaning it’s not your choice.”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “I don’t have a choice. I’ve got to do this.”
“You want to tell me where you’ve got to be,” she said, “and what you’ve got to be doing, and who’s forcing you to do it, that you won’t be home and you won’t be fulfilling your responsibilities at your place of business with your partner?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you any of that, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.”
“Please don’t call me honey.”
Calhoun nodded. “I don’t blame you for being upset.”
“I’m just trying to understand,” she said. “You’re going to be gone. Not coming to work. Not living in your house. Gone. Not your choice. And you won’t—can’t—even tell me where you’ll be, what’s going on, that’s more important than your responsibilities, never mind your—your relationship with me.” She glared at him. “Have I got it right?”
He shook his head. “Nothing’s more important than you. Only this has got to be done, and I wish you wouldn’t be mad.”
“Mad?” She shook her head. “I’m not mad, Stoney. I’m disappointed. I thought we had a certain kind of relationship. Now I find out we don’t. Instead, we’ve got secrets from each other. It’s a disappointment. You’re a disappointment. I feel like a fool for misunderstanding so profoundly.”
“You didn’t misun
derstand anything,” he said. “It’s just, this thing I’ve got to do, I don’t have any choice about it. I wish I could explain. Then you’d see.”
“So explain. What’s stopping you?”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Kate narrowed her eyes at him. Her mouth was a straight, thin line. Calhoun knew that look, and he didn’t like it. It was her cold anger. Nobody did cold anger better than Kate Balaban. “When do you leave, then?” she said.
“My last day at the shop will be Tuesday,” he said. “Day after tomorrow. I’m actually leaving on Thursday.”
She nodded. “Thursday. Well, I hope that’ll give you time to line up a replacement, at least.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll do that. I’ll give Adrian a call. What else? Anything else you want me to do?” He reached over to touch her arm.
She flinched and yanked her arm away.
He shrugged and took his hand back. “I wish you’d try to understand.”
“Oh,” she said, “I understand perfectly.” She gave her head a little shake. Then she stood up, went to the front of the store, and turned the sign that hung on the door so that the OPEN side faced out.
It turned out to be a busy morning at the shop, and both Calhoun and Kate had customers to deal with most of the time. Whenever Kate needed to speak to Calhoun, she was super-polite. She’d say, “Stoney, would you mind taking Mr. Tidings out to the parking lot so he can try casting the new Winston five-weight, please?” or, “Stoney, Mr. and Mrs. Zealey wonder if you might advise them on a selection of bonefish flies for their trip to Belize.”
There was a brief break around noontime when there were no customers in the shop. Kate went into the office, closed the door, and turned on her computer. Calhoun knocked on the glass to see if she wanted him to go out and get some lunch for them.
She ignored him.
The hell with it. If she wanted to go without lunch, so would he. He used the phone at the front counter to call Adrian, the kid who’d worked in the shop on a part-time basis for the past several summers. Adrian had graduated from a college in Massachusetts with a degree in English a couple of years earlier. He was a quick learner, good with the customers, liked fishing, and didn’t have a regular job.
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