Dead for the Money

by Peg Herring

  “No way to get through this stuff without a machete,” he told her, “but we can wade around it.” He slipped off his shoes and stuffed his socks inside, tying the laces together and hanging them around his neck. “It’s kind of mucky, but easier going.”

  Scarlet did as he did but was soon wet to the knees as she tried to avoid trees that leaned out over the water, catching her hair and scraping her arms. He tried to ease her way, holding branches up so that she could pass under them. Some way down, the trees receded and a shallow channel led inland. Bud led the way up the channel, feet sucked downward by the soft muck under the water. The branches of the leaning trees often met overhead, making a tunnel of their passage. He walked in the center, where the water reached their thighs but was clear of snags. He pointed out several places where branches were broken off. “Something’s been through here recently.”

  About thirty yards in, a small stretch of sand gave way to an open space that elevated gradually for a few dozen feet and then turned to forest and rose abruptly. They sat down to put their shoes and socks back on. “The original cabin was there,” Bud said, pointing. “See the foundation?”

  Scarlet glanced over a square of badly cracked concrete and the base of a fieldstone fireplace on their right, “That’s all that’s left?”

  “It burned back in the twenties.” He glanced around at the trees that canopied the spot. “Seventy or so years of vegetation overcame most of what the owners cleared.”

  She looked around. “I don’t see a boathouse.”

  Bud pointed. “There.”

  Barely visible through the trees before them was a building so dilapidated as to hardly merit the term. It straddled the far end of narrow inlet they had followed, tilting to one side as if it were dizzy. The back section of the roof was caved in, and moss coated the rest. It appeared that the forest was trying to reclaim the place, dead though its wood might be.

  Bud moved cautiously toward it. The structure was built of plank lumber, and a platform ran along the front with stairs at each side that led up to floor level. Ignoring the steps, which appeared too rotten to chance, Bud turned his back to the platform and hefted his rear onto it. Once he was up, he stepped cautiously into the gaping doorway. Assuring himself that no one was inside, he beckoned for Scarlet and helped her up onto the walkway. He led the way inside, stepping carefully on each floorboard before trusting his full weight to it.

  “Not exactly welcoming.” Scarlet wiped her hands on the rear of her jeans.

  “We used to come here as kids,” Bud said, his voice echoing off the walls. “I remember being scared of the place but fascinated by it too.”

  “Ghosts?”

  “I guess. Leland liked to scare me with stories about pirates and dead men’s chests.” He turned in a circle, looking up. “It seemed a lot bigger then.”

  “Look!” Scarlet said, pointing at the inner edge of the walkway. A fresh scrape marked the wood. “From the hull of a boat?”

  Kneeling, Bud examined the scrape and nodded. “Leland hid the boat in here, stayed long enough to catch Brodie alone, and took her away.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “And I watched him go.”

  “We need to get the police in here.”

  She was right. He had to stop thinking of what he had not done and concentrate on what must be done.

  “And you and I need to look at the rest of that DVD,” she added.

  “Leland wants control of Brodie’s money. That’s why he took her instead of coming forward openly.”

  “He thinks you won’t contest it if Brodie chooses to stay with him.” Scarlet bit her lip. “All he has to do is give her what she lost when Mr. Dunbar died.”

  Bud nodded. “The feeling that she belongs somewhere.”

  “NOT!” Mildred told Brodie firmly. “Not!” She could not believe that the girl would even consider that Leland was telling the truth.

  Brodie shook her head as if trying to shake something loose. “What are you doing?” Cher asked, irritation in her voice.

  “Nothing.”

  Mildred reminded herself that she could not be too forceful. “Not,” she whispered. “He is not your friend.”

  Even if he is her father, Mildred thought, Leland is a bad man. I can feel it.

  REINER RESPONDED QUICKLY to Bud’s phone call. Bud met him on the beach and led him back to the boathouse. Warned about the location, Reiner had brought waders, and he clomped ashore clumsily, peeling off the high boots and leaving them standing on the shore like half a man.

  The two men entered the old boathouse where Scarlet waited impatiently. “I found something, but I didn’t want to touch it until someone in authority was present.”

  Avoiding rotted and uneven boards, she led the two men to a spot at the front corner of the boathouse. Weeds grew against the lichen-covered wall, but a man-made something shone among the leaves. Reiner knelt to examine the object.

  “What is it?” Bud asked, peering over the deputy’s shoulder.

  “It’s a mini-cassette player.” Taking a camera from his pocket, Reiner took two pictures of the item in place. Pulling a rubber glove onto his right hand, he picked it up and took it out into the light so he could see the instructions on the buttons. He pressed PLAY and started slightly when the noise of an animal in pain came from the small device.

  “That’s the sound I heard the day Gramps died!” Bud said. “It’s what led me into the woods.”

  Reiner slid the recorder into a plastic bag from his pocket. “I think I know what happened.” His expression warned that they wouldn’t like what he had to say. “Brodie likes pranks. You know that.”

  Scarlet opened her mouth to disagree, but Reiner put up a hand. “Everyone around here’s heard about them, so listen for a minute. Suppose she thought she’d pull a trick on Bud and her grandfather.” He turned to Bud. “She plants this thing in the woods and draws you away from the bluff. She thinks it’s real funny, you climbing through the jack pines looking for a hurt animal. But in the meantime, Mr. Dunbar gets dizzy and falls over the edge.” He raised both hands. “How is a kid going to feel about that? She knows her stupid trick is responsible for her grandfather’s death. That’s why she ran away.”

  “We don’t think she ran away,” Scarlet said, but her tone was for once uncertain. The scenario the deputy outlined was possible.

  Reiner’s jaw set, but he did not argue. “Whether she ran away or not, we’ll find her. We’ve got a lot of people looking.”

  “To the south. But the boat I saw was heading north.” On the walk in, Bud had explained his theory that Leland had been on the property, but Reiner was doubtful. “You saw a boat on Lake Michigan, Bud. That’s not exactly a unique experience around here in July. You don’t know for sure it was the boat that was here, or that any boat was here, for that matter.”

  “There’s a mark on the timbers, there.” Scarlet pointed to the scrape they’d found.

  “And there’s a freshly cut tree over there,” Bud said, pointing out the raw stump. “He used it to block visibility from the lake.”

  “Okay, so somebody stayed in here. There was a storm coming, and you know what docking fees are at the marina. The guy was trying to save himself a few bucks.”

  “But how would anyone know there was a boathouse here?”

  “Luck. He sees the inlet, comes in, and gets a free night’s rest, out of the storm.” Reiner’s voice took on a reasoning-with-overwrought-relatives tone. “Bud, Lake Michigan is a big area to search. We have to go with what’s most likely. Brodie’s message said Chicago and mentioned a train.” He relented slightly as he began climbing into his waders. “I’ll talk to the state police, tell them what you’ve told me. They’ll decide what to do. They’ve got more experience with these things than you or me.”

  Bud’s shoulders slumped. “Thanks, Frank. I appreciate that.”

  Reiner took a few steps away and then returned. “Listen, I gave you a hard time earlier. I—” His lips worked as he so
ught the right words. “I’m sorry about your grandfather’s accident.”

  Bud got the message. “Forget it.”

  Rolling his shoulders, Reiner assured them, “If Brodie took off alone, we’ll find her. If she went with some guy, we’ll find the two of them.” He pressed his lips together briefly before finishing with what sounded like a warning. “And if the man is her father, we’ll have to see what happens once we’re all in the same room.”

  THE LITTLE BOAT CONTINUED NORTHWARD. The day was perfect for sailing, with a brisk wind, possibly a remnant of last night’s storm that sent them flying across the waters of the lake. For the first hour or so, Cher worked on word finds as if the fate of the world depended on them. Brodie ate some potato chips and drank a Sprite, which made her stomach queasy. She winced to think what Shelley would say about a breakfast like that, but there was nothing else. Cher apparently did not eat breakfast, and Leland had popped open a Red Bull.

  Brodie stared out the window, watching the shoreline, when Cher closed the book with a sigh and an air of finality. “You like puzzles?”

  Brodie shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “Keep you from gettin’ Old Timer’s Disease, eh?” She tapped the book with a blunt finger. Brodie tried to form an interested expression so the woman would keep talking.

  Cher seemed willing now that she had no other entertainment. “So you’re Lee’s kid, huh?”

  Brodie shrugged again. No sense mentioning that she had her doubts.

  “He sure got excited after he saw you. Kept tellin’ me how you look like your mother.” After a pause, she added, “Guess Lee likes his women raven-haired, like the romance novels call it.” She touched her own lank, black hair, pushing it back behind her ears.

  Inside Brodie’s head, a voice said, “Talk!” The word repeated until she felt like screaming in despair. The crazy voice was back—exactly what she did not need. It repeated, “Talk! Talk!”

  She resisted at first but had to admit that talking wasn’t a bad idea. Cher might tell her things she needed to know.

  “How did you meet him?”

  It was Cher’s turn to shrug. “He came to the town where I grew up. I was working in a bar. He seemed like the best thing I ever seen.” Her face softened, and she almost smiled. “That guy can charm the pants right off a girl, eh?”

  “Hmm.”

  Cher shifted on the plastic seat, making a coming-unstuck sound with her bare thighs. “Of course, that was a long time ago. I learned since then to look past the charm. But we do okay together most of the time, ’cept when he gets these dumb ideas.”

  “Like coming to Michigan?”

  “Oh, that wasn’t a bad idea.” Cher’s expression said there was more she could have added but would not. “Snatching you? Now that was a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “For one thing, it puts us in the state at a particular time, which we were not supposed to let anyone know about. People at home think we went camping for a few days.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Lee has a place, a lodge. We get hunters, fishermen, a few leaf-lookers in the fall.” She pushed the hair behind her ears again. “If you can make ’em think it’s cool to sleep in a cabin with no electricity and a pump in one corner, you can make a living.”

  “He doesn’t go all over the world?”

  Cher gave a knowing snicker. “You’ve been listening to his mother.” She rubbed her nose with the back of one hand. “We get a kick out of her, so thrilled at Leland’s good deeds.”

  Brodie was putting what Cher described together with things she’d heard from Gramps. “The place you come from. Is it north of Horn-something?”

  “Hornpayne. Yeah.” Cher looked at her sideways, as if spying into her mind. “Okay, so it isn’t his place yet. But it will be, now that the old man is dead.”

  “Leland moved into Gramps’ lodge?”

  Cher’s lip curled. “Nobody here cared about it, did they? Lee needed a place when they chased him out of Michigan.” She sounded aggrieved, as if Leland’s troubles were her own even before they met. “When him and me met up, I moved in. It was a real dump back then, but neither of us had any money, so it was better than nothing. Then I said, ‘Why don’t we sell the timber, eh?’ Up there, if you’re willing to sell trees and you look like you might own the rights, there are guys who’ll buy ’em. With the money we got for that, we fixed the place up some so we could rent out the cabins.” She tapped her cigarette ashes onto the floor. “I do the cooking and cleaning, Lee does the guiding and schmoozing.” She huffed a half-admiring, half-disgusted sound. “A musty old lodge, a buggy trek through the woods, and Lee telling stories over a few beers in the evening. The guests always leave feeling like they’ve been treated special. He’s got a knack for that.”

  Brodie did not know where to start with her questions. “But is he Canadian?”

  “Sure. Lee’s mother is, so he’s got dual citizenship.”

  Brodie guessed that had paved the way for a lot of what Leland had subsequently done. Once he’d lived on the property for a year or two, people would assume he owned it. He could prove he was Canadian, and he could prove he was a member of the Dunbar family. Being an experienced criminal, he had probably forged any other documents he needed.

  She asked Cher the question that mattered most to her. “So we’re going to the lodge?”

  “For a while anyway, till we can sell it. Prospecting is up since the price of gold went so high, and there are all kinds of people looking to buy land in the area. We plan to cash in, but we gotta do it now, before prices go down again. That’s why—” Cher abandoned that thought and frowned at Brodie. “Only Lee thinks he’s got something better, now he knows about you.”

  So it was about the money. Brodie tried not to be hurt by yet another person who did not really care about her. You knew better, she told herself. Only Gramps cared, and Gramps is dead.

  The crazy voice started up then. “Okay,” it whispered. “Okay. Okay.”

  It was more than she could take at this point. Even her slim hope that Leland, her possible father, might actually want her around—her, not her money—was obviously not true. And now her mind, which was all she really had, was acting crazy again, whispering things that were not, could not be true. It was not okay. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever by okay again.

  Leaving Cher fishing for yet another cigarette, Brodie went up on deck, anger deeper than any she had ever known boiling inside her. She dared not speak, dared not let either of her captors know how upset she was. She loosed all of her anger on herself and on the voice that kept trying to tell her the opposite of what she knew to be true.

  Tensing her whole body, she concentrated with every ounce of her being. Leave! She ordered. I don’t want a voice in my head. I want to be like everybody else, and I—want—you—gone!

  To her shock, she felt an easing of her mind, a lightening of her body. The nausea she’d felt for several days seemed to dissipate, and she stood a little straighter. Worst—or best—of all, she could not have said which, something hovered beside her, a vague form that seemed unwilling to leave but unable to stay in the face of her rage. It almost had a face, and the face looked sad.

  Then it was gone. A few feet away, Leland grasped his stomach, looking a little green. “I guess I shouldn’t have had that Red Bull for breakfast,” he said. “It isn’t sitting very well.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  BUD WAS DRAWN TO THE LAKESHORE. He stood staring northward, unconsciously revealing the desire to follow the boat he was certain had taken Brodie away. His mind conjured pictures of her in different phases of her life: the wild-haired three-year-old, the silent, solemn-faced child, the girl who was always nearby when he came home to visit. She’d said little, so he had done no more than make the obligatory conversational overtures: “How are your studies going?” and “What’s your favorite subject?” He often got only a shrug in answer, but Gramps would step in, asking specifics. He
got answers, although Brodie had always seemed nervous. Still, she had not avoided him. When he was home, she would curl up with a book in a corner of whichever room he and Gramps were in. She appeared to be reading, but Bud had often thought she was not. Arlis said she was a sneak who liked to eavesdrop on adult conversations. It dawned on him now that Brodie might have wanted to be part of those conversations.

  Hearing steps behind him, he turned to find Scarlet, who stopped beside him and looked in the same direction. “How will they find her?” she asked softly. “Reiner’s right. The lake is big.”

  “If Leland gets through the Straits of Mackinac, it will be even harder. He’ll be in Canada by tomorrow noon.”

  “The Coast Guard patrols the straits. They must have radar or something.”

  Bud shook his head in disagreement. “Leland’s a good sailor, and radar isn’t good at picking up a wooden boat. If he passes through at night, who’ll see him?” His eyes narrowed as he stared at the water. “Gramps took us all over up there when we were kids. I know where he might go better than anyone else.” He looked toward the boathouse, where Briggs banged on something with what might have been a sledge hammer. “The storm last night must have set him back. He’ll be off his schedule.”

  Scarlet’s head turned slightly as she regarded Bud. “I know what you’re thinking.

  Bud nodded. “We’ve got the Starcraft. It’s fast and it’s ready to go. I could catch him.”

  Inside Bud’s head, Seamus reacted with distress. A boat? What normal person would choose a boat under his feet when he could have four tires on solid pavement? Drive! he whispered urgently. Drive! Bud ignored him, mentally making a list of what he would need for a couple of nights on the water.

  “—a huge head start,” Scarlet was saying.

  Bud’s lips tightened. Seamus was considering a jump when she said, “—we might catch them.”

  “We?” Bud sounded surprised. Seamus was stricken. He was going for a boat ride, no matter what.