Twisted Creek Page 8

  He’d already called headquarters and informed them of the facts. This was the third cabin he’d found. All had been burned. The first looked to have been set six months ago, a second two months ago, and now this. All the facts told him two things he didn’t want to admit. One, a meth lab was in full operation at Twisted Creek, and two, it was growing in production. If they had already wasted three cabins he’d be willing to bet they were now setting up shop in the fourth. Eventually they’d run out of the most isolated spots and move in closer to where people lived.

  And when they did, someone would get hurt.

  He had to admit these guys were good at covering their tracks. He’d found no tire tracks on roads into the labs so they must have reached them by boat. Then, when they cleared out, they left nothing but ashes.

  As he walked back toward home, Luke circled close to the cabins near Jefferson’s Crossing. The Andrews Company cabin came into view first. It had half the lights inside burning. Luke had no trouble standing in the trees and looking into the house.

  Timothy Andrews sat in a recliner with a book almost touching his nose.

  Luke took the time to survey the place. Leather furniture, a big fireplace, books stacked in little piles everywhere, and one huge wall covered with rifles.

  He moved closer until he stood a few feet from the light and studied the rifles. He’d seen a collection like this before. Remingtons. Numbered replicas as fine as the originals made for every year of production.

  Luke glanced back at Timothy. Why would a young man think about drowning when he had twenty or more guns available?

  Luke laughed. He was thinking like a cop, not a bookworm. He’d worked two years in Houston as a policeman before he’d got on with the ATF. During those two years, three of the men from his training class had been shot, two had committed suicide with their service weapons, one was run over by a drunk while he directed traffic, and none died by drowning. It wasn’t a way he thought about dying. Maybe that was why Jefferson’s death bothered Luke.

  Moving back into the night, Luke crossed Allie’s property. He wanted to circle round and see if she’d fallen asleep on the porch again, but he didn’t dare in his black clothes. He’d probably scare her to death if she heard as much as a twig snap.

  This morning she’d caught him sleeping on the dock with a pole in his hand. By the time she sat down near him, Luke was awake, but he didn’t move. She waited a few minutes and then began flipping water on him. When he finally looked at her, she tried to tell him it must be raining.

  He’d thought of tossing her into the lake. It took all his control to remind himself to keep his distance. Friendship was all he’d offer her. He didn’t have time in his life for more, even if she were interested.

  She’d done the strangest thing an hour later. She’d borrowed his old canoe and paddled out to Timothy. Luke couldn’t hear what she’d said to the boy, but Timothy had nodded several times.

  Then she’d paddled back and thanked him for the use of his boat.

  When she started to walk away, he had to ask what she’d been up to and all she said was that she asked the kid to dinner Sunday night.

  The rest of the day she’d done her best to ignore Luke and he’d returned the favor.

  Chapter 13

  On Sunday it began to rain around noon. No one came by the store after that. Nana cooked and I tried to catch up with the books. Friday and Saturday we’d made twice as much as I thought we would. My dream of saving enough money for a rainy day began to form. People came in for Nana’s breakfasts and stayed to buy.

  With thunder rumbling outside, I checked the old ledger book and confirmed that business was great for this time of the year. After noon, I helped Nana put up beans and black-eyed peas. We’d done apple jelly Friday night and sold several jars already. The homemade jars lining one shelf gave the store a fresh look.

  Willie had dropped by Saturday with a bushel of green beans and said he’d give them to us if Nana would can them and give him two jars. She bartered with him saying she’d give him four if he’d buy the jars. It was not a fair deal, but Willie fell for it anyway.

  They sat on the porch and snapped peas for two hours. Both rocked as they worked. Nana hummed gospel tunes. Willie swore now and then when his arthritic fingers wouldn’t seem to work. It made for an interesting melody.

  I thought of asking him how his dead wife was doing, but I’d worked out in my mind why he’d lied. An old man complaining about his wife was normal. A man saying she’d died was sad. Maybe he’d had his bucketful of sadness.

  By five-thirty Sunday afternoon, I’d reorganized the supplies in the store and arranged the tables in the café area. Nana arranged old bandana napkins in the center of the little tables and set a candle in the middle of each. If I counted that and the twinkle lights, we almost had atmosphere.

  We had no idea who would come to our dinner, but I’d left signs at both the dock and the road: SUNDAY SUPPER-SIX BUCKS.

  “We’ll be eating the gumbo all week if no one shows up,” Nana mumbled as she lined pies along the bar.

  “Willie said he and Mrs. Deals are coming.” I tried to remember if he’d said they would come or would try to come.

  Nana cut the pies. “I invited Luke, but he didn’t promise he could make it.”

  I couldn’t imagine what would keep him away. Near as I could tell, he did nothing except magically appear now and then. He worked when I asked him to do something and claimed all he wanted was a meal for his efforts. And he slept on the dock every morning as if he’d been out all night dancing at some bar. I’d touched him enough times to realize his muscles were hard as rocks, but the man seemed a bit lazy to me.

  “The rain might keep everyone away,” I offered, not wanting to get Nana’s hopes too high.

  “Might,” Nana answered, spreading a towel out by the door. “But if they do make it, you tell them to wipe their feet when they come in.”

  I nodded, wondering if any café in the history of the world had ever had a towel at the door.

  I jumped a few minutes later when one of the Landry brothers opened the door. Near as I could find out no one knew either of the brother’s first names. They kept to themselves and only stopped by for bait.

  “May I help you?” I asked, knowing that if he took a seat I’d be mopping up a puddle of rain. He couldn’t have been any wetter if he’d swam over.

  He stood on the towel and said in a voice that sounded like it had aged with lack of use, “Two orders to go for dinner.”

  I stared openmouthed. This wasn’t McDonald’s and what person in his right mind would fight this storm for two take-out orders of stew that would be cold before he could get them home?

  “All right,” I said as I shook my head and walked over to the pass-through. “Two dinners to go,” I yelled.

  By the time I walked back to the store and rang up two meals, the Landry brother had fished enough money from his pocket to pay me. The money was wet and crumpled, but I took it.

  Nana came through the swing door with a collection of plastic storage bowls. She handed them to the dripping man standing on her towel. “I packed extra corn bread ’cause you’d order it if you were eating in. I also gave each order two pieces of pie, one apple and one buttermilk.” She smiled up at him. “You’ll like the buttermilk better.”

  He just stared at her as if she were speaking a language he’d never encountered.

  I found a plastic bag to put all the bowls inside.

  He thanked us both with a slight bow.

  “Now you bring my bowls back, you hear,” Nana said as she held the door open for him. “And I don’t want any of them smelling like you stored bait in them.”

  A few minutes later I heard the sputter of an old engine moving away from the dock and wondered if the other Landry brother waited in the boat.

  At straight-up six Mrs. Eleanora Deals arrived, complete with raincoat, umbrella, and galoshes. She didn’t bother to introduce herself, just asked if
we were open for business, but I had no doubt who she was. I could almost smell the Milano cookies on her breath. When I nodded, she said she’d like a table for one.

  She removed her coat to reveal a navy dress that had to have been at least twenty years old. The white lace at the collar looked frayed slightly. Everything about her spoke of old money-mildewed old money.

  Willie followed her in and also asked for a table for one. He was friendly, but seemed to want to be alone.

  Next, Luke stepped from the kitchen and took one of the stools, keeping his back to the others.

  When I passed him, I put my hand on his shoulder. Luke’s muscles tightened beneath my touch. He couldn’t have made it plainer that he wasn’t interested in talking to me than if he’d screamed rape. Whenever I got within three feet of the man, I swear he acted as if I were contagious.

  “Sorry.” I brushed his shoulder as if I could brush away my touch. “I just wanted to see how wet it is out there.”

  Blue eyes studied me. “It’s wet,” he mumbled.

  While Nana served them soup, I answered a light tap on the door.

  The thin young man from the boat stood before me. He had dark circles under his eyes and a book in his hand. “Do you have a table where I can read while I eat?”

  “I do,” I answered. “Welcome, Timothy. I’m glad you could make it.”

  Before I could close the door, a chubby, middle-aged woman rushed up the steps. “Am I too late?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  I held the door and smiled. “No, come in.” I recognized her as the woman who wanted to know if we had any tulip bulbs. “I’m Allie.”

  “I’m Mary Lynn O’Reilly from directly across the lake. I saw your sign when I dropped by while you were busy Friday. I was so pleased to see that you’re serving a real meal. It’s been ages since I’ve been out to dinner.” She lifted a large purse. “Is it okay if Poseidon comes in? We always eat together, and on a stormy night like this I couldn’t leave him at home. He’ll be quiet. No one will even notice he’s with me.”

  I looked down at a tiny white poodle with a bow set lopsided on his head. I knew I was probably breaking every health rule in the state, but I decided any place that until three days ago had animal heads on the wall could allow this mutt in the door. “Sure.”

  Mary Lynn smiled, obviously warmed by my kindness. I couldn’t help but wonder how many places she’d been asked to leave.

  “Do you have a table for one?”

  I almost said that a table for one was all we seemed to have, but I only replied, “Follow me.”

  The last guest, Paul Madison, was the city fellow I’d seen a few days ago. His “do you have wine” wife was missing. He took the table near the kitchen door. He still wore a dress shirt beneath a thin Windbreaker, but unshaven he looked a little more like he belonged out here. I’d guess him as a banker or a stockbroker.

  I started to ask why he was still here-weekenders were long gone by now-but he didn’t look like he wanted to talk. So I just smiled and nodded at him. He returned the greeting, minus the smile.

  Nana and I served the soup and corn bread. The storm seemed to grow worse, but no one said anything. Mary Lynn whispered to her dog, calling him Posey. Willie complimented Nana several times. Timothy read as he ate his meal without looking up from the book. Mrs. Deals picked at her food and Luke leaned over his bowl as if he could make his big frame disappear.

  When Posey barked as the fat cat crossed the store, I knew I had to step in. “I’m sorry to bother everyone,” I said, noticing Mary Lynn looked frightened. “Does anyone mind if Miss O’Reilly’s dog joins us this evening?”

  I wasn’t at all surprised when everyone spoke at once.

  Mrs. Deals said some of her best friends had been dogs.

  Willie swore the dog smelled better than he did, and to my surprise everyone else nodded.

  Timothy got up and went over to Mary Lynn’s table. He asked if he could pet Posey.

  Mary Lynn nodded shyly.

  Then everyone settled back in their chairs at their tables for one and finished their meals. I smiled and looked around, catching blue eyes staring at me. To my shock, Luke winked.

  While Nana offered everyone dessert, I moved to the shadows and reached for my ledger book. I knew I didn’t have time to draw, so I gripped the book as I studied the guests, each alone like a castaway on an island. Five strangers together in their solitude.

  Except for Luke, they took their time eating. Mrs. Deals sliced off small birdlike bites of her pie. Mary Lynn stopped often to cuddle her dog and remind him to be good because he was a guest. The sad young man only ate when he turned a page. Willie watched the storm.

  When Luke stood, he left a ten-dollar bill beside his plate and went out on the porch. The others took their time and paid at the cash register. I thanked each one, but didn’t try to make useless conversation.

  Paul Madison asked if he could buy a few groceries. I turned on the lights in the grocery area so he could shop.

  When Nana brought a small to-go bag for Mary Lynn’s dog I thought the woman might cry. Everything about her told me that she was a proper old maid, living alone, probably gardening and quilting. Everything, except her eyes. They darted as if from fear. She reminded me of a child who’d been struck by so many people she feared a blow from everyone she met.

  “Next Sunday?” Mary Lynn asked as she hugged her dog tightly. “You’ll be open again for dinner?”

  “I’m planning on it,” I said.

  Mrs. Deals, who was putting on her galoshes, snapped, “I’d like the same table.”

  “You’ll have it,” I smiled, knowing that was probably as close to a compliment from her as I could hope for.

  The melancholy young man lifted one finger, silently making his reservation.

  I raised my voice so everyone could hear. “All your tables will be waiting.”

  They filed out with only a nod toward one another. Willie turned his flashlight on the path for Mary Lynn so she could make it to her car and Timothy stopped to talk to Luke.

  I saw him pass something to Luke, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

  I helped Nana with the dishes, then curled up beside the window and sketched the dinner party. The sounds of the lake blended with the soft rain, making this place seem a million miles from anywhere.

  Timothy’s outline covered one page. Luke, eating alone at the counter, covered another. Mrs. Deals, with her very proper stance, another. Mary Lynn, hugging her dog as if he were her only friend, another. And the last sketch I drew before I closed the ledger was Nana leaning back in the porch chair snapping peas. The strength of her hands showed through in the lines; peace brushed her face.

  About midnight, I moved to the huge bay window that overlooked the lake. I stared out into a world that seemed washed clean by the rain. The moon was high, but I could see a tiny twinkle of light from across the lake. Mary Lynn’s place, I thought. And the circle of security lights up on the rise-that must be Mrs. Deals’s big house.

  I’d met them, I thought, these odd people the sheriff had called “the Nesters,” and I knew, strange as they all were, that they were somehow my people. My destiny.

  Chapter 14

  Monday

  September 23, 2006

  Midnight hours

  Luke silently paced along the porch in front of Jefferson’s old store. He felt restless. It was too rainy to either swim or build a fire. He loved both. Swimming had been his exercise of choice since he’d been in college and he liked watching the fire climb up the night sky. Campfires always reminded him that he was a quarter Indian. He liked the idea that his roots had dug into this land for thousands of years. Sometimes, when he swam in the lake or ran in the woods, he swore a wildness in his blood warmed as if he were home.

  Turning over in his hand the patch that Timothy had given him, Luke stared at it once more. The symbol of the code talkers, a special group of men, all with Navajo blood, who had used their language as
a code that the Nazis never broke. Luke had heard of the group, he’d even seen a few movies that mentioned them, but he’d never realized how different they must have been. For the first time since his grandfather had died, he wished he’d listened closer to the stories his grandfather and Jefferson had told.

  Timothy said he found the old patch among a box of patches he’d collected from World War II. He’d said Luke could have it. That it would mean more to him.

  The boy was right. Luke closed his hand around the Marine patch. It meant a great deal.

  He was aware someone still moved around in the store and guessed it would be Allie. She usually turned off the twinkle lights when she went up the stairs. He’d watched her a few times, locking the doors, checking the windows as if the tiny locks would protect from everything in life.

  He had a feeling she’d make a go of this place, but it could cause problems. As long as this lake was a dying community, the drug dealers would feel safe. If it started to prosper, they’d have to find another place…or run her out. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were moving in from the outskirts. He’d found more damage besides the fires. After he’d talked to Timothy, Luke had checked out the Andrews dock. More than the wind had destroyed the landing.

  If someone wanted the people out here to leave, it wouldn’t be that hard to make life tougher on them. Drug dealers wouldn’t worry about the old men, or even people like Mary Lynn and Mrs. Deals, but cabins like the Andrews one brought successful businessmen out to fish.

  Luke decided it might be wise to take a few weeks more of his vacation time and hang around.

  Someone touched his shoulder and he twisted away, almost reaching for his Glock before he caught her in the corner of his vision.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “I always seem to be touching you and I know you don’t like it. But it’s kind of like trying not to think of the word elephant when someone says not to.”

  She moved a few feet away. “I just came out to say thanks for fixing the old potbellied stove this morning. In another month we may need it to keep the place warm.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a ten. “You don’t have to pay for the meal. We traded work for food, remember.”