Bear Foot set two plates and two spoons on the table. “Let’s see if you’re right,” he said to George before cutting into the pie.
“Bear Foot,” Emily called out.
“Yes?”
“Is Vivian really dead?”
“I can’t believe Vivian is dead,” George said, shaking his head.
Bear Foot’s eyes fell, and he gently laid his spoon down. With a tender nod, he replied, “May she rest in peace.”
“But . . ." Emily’s voice trailed off. For a moment, her world had made perfect sense. Now only cruelty made sense.
“I thought this was Vivian’s hotel?” George asked.
“It is,” Bear Foot said. “It was,” he corrected himself. “We scattered her ashes this morning.”
Emily’s emotions, knocked off a high a few minutes earlier, now bottomed out in confused disappointment. She leaned forward, resting her head on her hands. “I don’t understand,” she moaned.
“Her spirit came to me the day she died and said something to me,” Bear Foot said.
“What did she say?” George asked.
He hung his head. “I can’t remember. It’s all so blurry. I thought it was all because I was sick.” He shut his eyes.
“I just don’t understand why Mark didn’t say anything,” Emily said to no one. None of it made sense. Why didn’t Mark tell her? What were the odds of landing in this house? And then only to learn that Vivian had died—
There was a knock on the door.
Bear Foot’s eyes were still closed. “I guess I’ll get it,” she said. She felt a sharp pang in her chest.
She opened the door. Mark.
“I’d like a room, please,” he said. “I believe Breakwater Lighthouse is free.”
“Why didn’t you tell me Vivian was dead?” Emily fired. “I don’t get it.”
He stepped around her and into the house.
“Wait! You owe me an explanation.”
Mark stopped and pivoted back around. “On second thought, I’m just going to get my stuff and go to the Cozy Inn. Or maybe I’ll take Peter’s car out for a spin and stay at the graybar hotel.” He headed toward the kitchen.
“Are you having a breakdown or something?”
“No, not at all. I feel fine. I’ll just get my things.”
“Wait!” she demanded, but he didn’t stop. She sighed in frustration. Frustration that he had lied to her, but even more than that—he seemed not to care about her connection to Vivian.
“What the heck is going on here?”
Emily looked over at the dining room and saw the peculiarity that had struck Mark. George’s hands were over his ears and his eyes were shut. Bear Foot was spoonfeeding him pie.
“A test,” Bear Foot said, shoving the spoon into his test subject.
“Taste test?”
“Mmm.” George opened his eyes and set his hands back down. “Nope. Definitely not from the pie tin.”
While Emily approached, Bear Foot explained: George claimed to know if a piece of pie had been scooped straight from the pie tin.
“I can,” George nodded adamantly. “It causes a yucky metallicky taste.” He closed his eyes and covered his ears. “Ready. Try again.”
This time Bear Foot scooped the apple pie directly from the tin. Both Emily and Mark stood there watching this. When George took a bite, his face soured. “Yuck. Directly from the tin, right?” He opened his eyes and uncovered his ears.
“Yes, but how?” Bear Foot took another spoon and scooped a bite from the tin. He ate it and shook his head. “It tastes normal.”
Mark patted George on the back. “Maybe you have a superpower,” he said and started for the kitchen.
Emily trotted toward Mark, reaching him as he pushed the swinging door into the kitchen. She forcefully yanked on his arm.
Mark spun around with an annoyed expression. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that Vivian had died?—I’m sorry, by the way.”
Mark sighed. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I honestly didn’t think it mattered. You were supposed to be on your way home in a day, remember?”
“I wouldn’t have stayed here in the first place if you had told me.”
“Exactly.”
Emily stood there, mouth agape, wanting to say something. They held a stare.
“The lighthouse!” Bear Foot cried out.
“What?” Mark said.
Bear Foot stumbled, tripped up by the chair.
“I remember it now. Vivian told me to go to the lighthouse.”
“To the lighthouse? Why?” Mark asked.
“I don’t know. I have to go.” He skidded past them and ran out.
George mumbled, “It’s on my list.”
“You’d think she would have told him something more important than that,” Mark said.
“You believe in all that?”
He shook his head at her. “No, Ms. Fate. Of course not.”
She glowered at him.
“I have to admit, some unusual things have happened,” he said.
Emily clapped her hands. “Speaking of which, aren’t you curious about my encounter with Vivian?”
“What encounter?”
“When I was two years old. She got me out of a bad orphanage.”
“In Wisconsin?”
“No! Sarajevo. I’ve always known that it was a humanitarian doctor who brought me here, but I never knew who it was.”
“And you think it was Vivian.”
“No, I know it was her.”
“How?”
“The book, her story.”
“What book?”
“The one I told you about earlier, the book about doctors. Weren’t you listening?”
“Oh right, when you were snooping downstairs.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes.”
“Vivian is in that book?” His tone was more tender.
“More than in it. She wrote about her time in Sarajevo. Did she ever talk to you about it?”
He sighed and hung his head. “To be perfectly honest, I barely knew her. She was always out of the country. I’d get letters from her every year, and she’d promise to visit when she was back, but I never saw her except once when I was a kid.”
“Oh.”
His gaze panned around the house. “So all of this is new to me.”
“You mean you’ve never been up here before?”
“Nope. Had no idea Vivian was running a bed and breakfast until you showed up.”
Emily’s hand covered her unrestrained laughter.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know.” And she kept on, uncontrollably. Her way of letting go of any resentment. Then she stopped, remembering that Vivian had died, and that the long-odds coincidence turned out in the end to be bitter indeed. “This is a lot to take in.” She dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Where did this pie come from?” George asked.
“It’s from Diner 37.”
“Did that girl bring it?”
“Who? Yvonne? No. Em and I brought it back. We had dinner there—well sort of.” He looked at Emily. “Yvonne ran off, by the way.”
“Ran off? You didn’t try kissing her, did you?”
“No,” he huffed. “Some kind of argument with Peter—”
George slammed his empty glass of milk onto the table. “This pie is almost as good as Trudy’s.”
Emily and Mark looked at each other. Emily said, “Trudy makes good pies?”
“Used to make the best pies.”
“Used to? She doesn’t anymore?” Mark asked.
His brow furrowed. “Of course not. She died years ago.”
Emily and Mark shared a glance.
Mark asked, “So who are you traveling with on the casino tour?”
“No one. Why do you ask?”
“Well we thought you said you got into an argument with your wife,” Emily said.
“My wife? No, I
got into an argument with Trina, the tour director.”
Mark and Emily swapped brief glances. “What was your argument about?” Mark asked.
George blew out an irritated pfffffft. “We ended up sharing a room at the Cozy Inn because I’m the only one traveling by myself and they ran out of rooms. Let’s just say things got a little too . . . cozy. Yes, too cozy at the Cozy Inn.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mark and Emily stood together in the basement. Mark held Doctors on the Borderline, reading a passage, pleasant chills pricking his neck. It was like a last, long letter from Vivian. “This is so crazy,” he said finally, looking up.
A muffled wail came from somewhere in the house. Mark and Emily stared at each other momentarily. It could having been a laugh or a cry.
A resounding thud reverberated through the house. Mark dropped the book on the coffee table and ran for the stairs. Emily followed. “What’s going on?” he asked George. But before George could say anything, a pleading scream came from upstairs. Mark sprinted toward the stairs. Emily chased behind.
A wailing noise echoed from one of the rooms. Mark and Emily ran through the hallway toward the commotion, halting when they reached the Lake Michigan room.
At first sight, it looked like a kids’ game of dogpile. “What the heck!” Mark cried.
Bear Foot grunted. “Help me with him.”
Yvonne was lying on the floor beneath Peter. Bear Foot was bent over trying to pull Peter off of Yvonne.
Mark bent down to help Bear Foot. “Get off of her!” Mark yelled.
“He’s dead!” Yvonne screamed.
Yvonne slipped out from underneath.
Bear Foot closed his eyes and started whispering something.
“Turn him over,” Emily commanded, falling to her knees. She checked Peter’s pulse and his breathing. “He’s not dead. What happened?”
Yvonne breathlessly explained that Peter had passed out while she was talking to him. She had caught him and then gotten stuck beneath him as they fell to the ground.
“Is he taking any medications?”
“I don’t know,” Yvonne answered. “Maybe.”
“Go check his things,” Emily said firmly.
Yvonne moved as slowly as if she were wading through a few feet of water.
Mark pulled out his phone. “I’m calling 911,” he said.
Bear Foot got out of the way as Emily attended to Peter.
She looked around his body. “No bleeding.”
“Here!” Yvonne pulled out a bottle, handing it to Emily.
“Never mind, Mark. Tell them not to come.”
“Why?”
“He’s narcoleptic, is all.”
“He’s what?” Yvonne asked.
Emily explained to Yvonne while Mark tried to convince the dispatcher that the man was narcoleptic. “No, we don’t need an ambulance after all. He’s only sleeping.”
“Did he hit his head when he fell?” Emily asked.
“No. But I almost did! So he fell asleep standing?”
“Yes,” Emily replied and turned to Bear Foot. “Can you hand me a pillow, please?” She turned back to Yvonne, who had her hands clasped over her mouth and was staring down at Peter. “It can happen at any time. There are certain triggers, like exhaustion or strong emotions.”
Bear Foot handed Emily a pillow. “Mark, can you lift him up for second, please?” she asked.
Yvonne started to cry. “I thought he was dead.”
“Bear Foot, why don’t you take Yvonne downstairs to get a glass of water.”
“Come on, Yvonne,” Bear Foot said, a certain tenderness in his deep voice. He put his hand on her arm, guiding her out of the room.
“What’s with those two?” Mark whispered, crouching down next to Emily, who was kneeling on the floor.
“What two?”
“Bear Foot and Yvonne.”
“Didn’t notice. Jealous much?”
“Ha!”
She smirked at him.
“When did Bear Foot come back to the house, anyway?” he asked.
“Beats me. I was with you.”
Mark stood up. “I wonder if he’ll still give me a good review.”
“Who?”
“This guy.” He tapped his foot on Peter’s shoulder. “He can’t hear me, can he?”
“No, he’s asleep. You’ll get an interesting review from me.”
Mark laughed. “I’m sure glad this guy isn’t dead. It’d make selling the house that much harder.”
Emily stood up. “You can’t sell this house,” she demanded.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Vivian’s house.”
Mark shrugged. “What am I supposed to do with it? I live in Chicago.”
Emily shook her head. “Just don’t be hasty about it. There’s something—I don’t know. Magical or something about this place.”
“Yeah, it causes people to fall asleep.”
She shoved Mark in the shoulder, hard.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“That’s for not telling me that Vivian had died.”
“I told you I was sorry.”
“I know. I forgive you. Now.”
There was a knock on the door downstairs. Mark sighed. “I better go see who that is.”
By the time Mark got far enough down the stairs that he could see the door, Bear Foot was opening it. He caught sight of law enforcement standing in front of Bear Foot. The 911 call . . .
“I told them over the phone that everything’s okay,” Mark hollered, hurrying down the remaining steps and toward the door as if it were a football drill. Bear Foot stepped out of the way.
Mark smiled, recognizing the man, but the uniform was different. “You sure put in a lot of hours.”
“Do I know you?”
“Um . . ." He got close enough to read the name tag. Bryst. “You don’t remember me from this morning?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m Officer Bryst with Manistique Public Safety. You’re probably thinking of my brother. He’s a state trooper.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“No problem. Happens all the time. Is there a man named Peter Hinton staying here?”
“Yes, I’m sorry you came out here for nothing. He’s all right.”
“What are you talking about?” the officer asked.
“I told the 911 dispatcher that he’s all right. We have a doctor here.”
“I got a call from Mr. Hinton about a stolen vehicle.”
“What?!” It was Yvonne, who leaped off the sofa. “Peter really did call. I can’t believe him!”
The officer stepped inside and raised an open hand. “Calm down, miss.” He turned back to Mark. “Now, where’s the man who made the call?”
Mark pointed up. “He’s upstairs, sleeping.”
“Could you wake him for me?”
Mark shook his head. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s narcoleptic.”
Mark heard steps. A man in a plaid shirt and thin tie, carrying a brown valise, stood at the front door. Mark approached. “Sorry, we don’t have vacancy. The Cozy—”
“I’m a doctor. Dr. Currant from the hospital.”
“Hi, Jimbo,” Officer Bryst said. “Do you know anything about this?”
“I just got a call about someone here needing medical attention,” the doctor said.
“Sorry to have wasted your time,” Mark said. “We already have a doctor here, and the man is fine. Turns out he’s narcoleptic.”
Dr. Currant’s eyebrows lifted. “What doctor?”
“Dr. . . ." Mark suddenly realized he didn’t remember Emily’s last name. “She’s a guest here.”
“I know her,” Dr. Currant said excitedly. “Dr. Davis. Emily, right? She helped with an accident this afternoon.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Mark eyed him a bit suspiciously. “It was hardly an accident. It was more like stupidity.”
“Sure,”
Dr. Currant replied dismissively. “Do you mind if I come in and see the patient?”
“Knock yourself out, doc. Upstairs, last room.”
“Thank you.”
After the doctor walked off, Officer Bryst said, “So there’s no stolen vehicle?”
“No,” erupted Yvonne. “It’s in the garage charging!”
“Mind if I have a look?” he asked.
“Please do,” she answered.
“No, I don’t mind,” Mark said deliberately. “The side door to the garage is unlocked.”
“I locked it,” Yvonne said.
“You did?”
She nodded.
“Give me a second. I need to find the key,” Mark said to the officer.
The trooper nodded. Mark went into the parlor and grabbed the set of keys from the console drawer. He hoped one opened the garage side door.
When he came back out, he absorbed the scene for a second. Yvonne on the sofa, leaning forward with her head down, Bear Foot leaning down next to her, elbows on knees. Officer Bryst, who looked exactly like his brother, was standing in the entryway waiting.
“All right,” Mark announced, holding up the keys, and he and the officer headed out the front door. The day was settling away, the sky a deep purple with pink highlights.
“Where’s Vivian?” Bryst asked as he followed Mark.
Mark stopped and turned around. “She died a few days ago.”
Bryst frowned. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
Mark nodded and continued on toward the garage.
“And Vivian was your . . .”
“My aunt.”
“So does Bear Foot know that woman, what’s her name?”
“Yvonne. No, he only met her today.”
“And she’s staying here with Mr. Hinton?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And now he’s incapacitated?”
They reached the garage and Mark turned around. “Asleep,” he replied pointedly. Incapacitated sounded a tad nefarious to him.
“And you have a guest who’s a doctor?”
“Yes, she was in a deer-car and is waiting for her car to get fixed . . ."
Stuck in Manistique Page 19