She watched the man step back onto the paved path. He pulled a key ring from his suit coat pocket. Pressing a button on the remote attached to his key chain, he scanned the cars in the parking lot. He pressed the button again. Failing to hear the honk that signaled a programmed function, he stared back down at the keys.
"Are you sure I can't help you?"
Turning to respond, he said, “Madam, I already answered your question. It would be most unlikely that you could answer any inquiry I might have."
"Suit yourself.” Sadie shook the last few drops of coffee from the mug and stood. “I'll be inside if you need me."
"Are we getting another one?” Mr. Bakke asked, as Sadie let the screen door slam behind her. She set the mug on the table.
"I think so, but he's one stubborn crosser."
Mr. Bakke dipped his hands into the dishwater and wrung out a cloth before wiping the length of the kitchen counter. He wore khaki shorts and a light blue polo shirt featuring a Witt's End Resort emblem. A ghostly-white, seven-inch section of exposed skin stood out boldly between his knee-high stockings and the hem of his shorts. His unusually large feet were clad in brown sandals. Sadie blinked twice to make sure he wasn't wearing snowshoes.
Small-boned and height challenged, his head sported thin wisps of white hair that refused to lay flat against his scalp. Tufts of ear hair sprung from the sides of his head. Were Belly and Mr. Bakke hatched from the same furry egg? Sadie smiled at the prospect.
"I can't believe Jane's letting you do that,” Sadie said, watching Mr. Bakke run the cloth over the counter. “She won't have a purpose if you clean. Why waste your time? You know she'll redo it when you're not looking."
"I'm trying to lighten her load. She's so worried about the law suit she's irrational. This morning she cleared the table and started the dishes before I finished eating."
"That's why I wolf my food down and bloat like a pig. You take in a lot of air when you're forced to shovel it in,” Sadie said. “She's pressured me to eat fast ever since I can remember. Jane got that trait from our mother."
"I'll bet it drove your father to distraction,” Mr. Bakke said.
"We never knew him. Mother refused to tell us who he was."
"She wouldn't tell me, either. I tried to trick her into telling me, but she never let it slip.” Mr. Bakke joined Sadie at the kitchen table.
"Mr. Bakke,” Sadie said, pointing across the table. “You might want to consider moving to another chair. You just sat on Lora."
Placing his palms flat on the table for leverage, Mr. Bakke planted his sandals on the floor and rose slowly. He turned to view the empty chair. “My apologies, Lora. I didn't know you were there. I thought Sadie and I were alone."
A hollow rap on the screen door interrupted their conversation. They turned to witness the man in the black suit squint with curiosity as he tried to make out the figures on the opposite side of the door.
Sadie pushed the door open.
"Excuse me, madam,” the man said, his eyes lingering on Sadie's hairdo. “It seems I've had a lapse of memory. I can't figure out where I am.” His shoulders jerked when a car door slammed behind him.
Sadie joined him on the porch. “You're at Witt's End."
The man tightened his grip on the briefcase. “I know that. I read the sign. I need to know where Witt's End is located."
"We're located on Pinecone Lake in Northern Minnesota."
Belly grunted, lifted his bulk from the rug, and rammed his head against the screen door. Sadie pushed it open to prevent the dog from ripping the mesh from the door's frame. Belly sniffed the man's shoes. He snorted against the back of his trousers as the man tried to push him away with his briefcase.
"That's not possible. I'm on my way to…” He paused. “Well it's none of your concern. I just need to get back to the correct highway."
Sadie watched him scan the parking lot again, desperate to connect with something familiar. She motioned at him. “Maybe you should step in for a few minutes to get your bearings. Then I'll help you select a route."
The man sat in the chair Sadie indicated and looked around the room. Noticing others present, he said, “I wouldn't have bothered you if I had known you had company. I apologize for the intrusion."
"It's not an intrusion. These folks are guests just like you,” Sadie said, picking at a wad of dog hair that had stuck to her purple tube top. Sadie turned to point to Mr. Bakke on the davenport. “Well, everyone's a guest except Mr. Bakke.” Smiling at the elderly gentleman she added, “He's family."
Mr. Bakke waved and continued to read without looking up from his newspaper.
The man studied the other guests. “A guest? I'm not a guest. I may be perplexed, but I guarantee I have no intention of becoming a guest."
"Nobody ever does,” Sadie said gently.
Belly propped his chin on the man's leg and rolled his eyes coyly. Then he barked. The man's white knuckles jutted through his skin.
Leaning away from the dog, he said, “Please remove your mongrel from my pants leg. He's getting drool all over me.” He grimaced as the slobber spot on his briefcase veined across the leather.
"He's not my dog,” Sadie said.
"Then why do you tolerate him? He should be outside where creatures belong."
"He thinks he lives here.” Sadie tugged on Belly's collar. “But he really belongs to the neighbors."
After situating Belly on the opposing side of the room, Sadie reached out to shake the man's hand. “I'm Sadie Witt,” she said. She felt the clammy coolness of his skin when the man placed the tips of his fingers against her palm. “And who might you be?"
He looked up over the top of his glasses at Sadie's wrinkled cleavage and quickly averted his gaze. He shook his head. “It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is I'm obviously in the wrong place."
"For your information, you are exactly where you're supposed to be."
"I can't be. I haven't booked a vacation. And if I had, it certainly wouldn't be here. My arrival here was a miscalculation."
"I don't think so,” Sadie said, edging closer to the man. “Let's try this again.” Sadie reached her hand out. “I'm Sadie Witt. Who are you?"
Without extending his hand, the man straightened his shoulders, raised his chin, and said, “I'm Theopholis Jamison Peter."
"Well Mr. Peter, welcome to Witt's End. May we call you Theo?"
The screen door slammed and they turned toward the noise.
"Who called the undertaker?” Rodney Lassiter's footsteps fell heavily as he clomped over to Theo. “Black suit. Black tie. Did they let you drive the hearse, too?” A sneer portrayed his disdain as he ran his finger under the lapel on Theo's suit. “Nice threads, dude. I bet this cost you a wad. It ought to look real good where you're going."
"Sit down, Rodney, and be quiet,” Sadie said. “Theo is one of our new guests."
Tugging on a chair with his boot, Rodney said, “Where do you find these losers, Sadie? The last one was a race car driver with his helmet melted to his head. Now you got one in a mortician's costume. How come you don't get no sexy broads coming to your cabin?"
Rodney's jeans hung low on his hips. As he moved, his hands grasped the waist band to keep from losing his pants. One of his t-shirt sleeves featured circles burned into it spelling the word ‘kill’ in uneven letters.
"Cork it, Rodney.” Sadie put her fists on her hips as she turned to face him. “I don't want to have to tell you again."
With lightening speed, Rodney bounded back toward Theo and placed his oil-stained hands on Theo's leather briefcase. “What's in the briefcase?"
Recoiling, Theo said, “I beg your pardon."
Rodney wrapped his fingers around the padded leather handle. “Let's see what you got."
Gritting his teeth, Theo uttered, “Remove your hand from my briefcase."