“The only thing,” Aunt Frances said, “is I’m good friends with one of Stan’s nieces. Gwen’s the daughter of his oldest sister and isn’t much younger than Stan.” She went quiet. Stayed quiet.
“That’s not the end of the story, right?” I asked.
She watched another seagull wing past. “No. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I connected Stan and Gwen. He never talked about his family and she didn’t mention that Stan was her uncle until he donated the money to the bookmobile. That’s when . . .”
“When . . . ?”
“I decided to play master of other people’s lives.” Her voice was harsh. “I talked to Stan, over and over, on the phone, at the Round Table, at his house, trying to convince him to call his sisters. Tried to convince Gwen to see Stan. All in the name of trying to make people happy.”
She shoved at her hair, trying to push it into a place out of the wind. “It’s not enough that I think I can help people find their true loves. Oh, no. I have to try to end a family feud that has been going on for decades. And look what happened. So stupid.” Creases appeared around her lips.
My mind made a small, frightened leap. “You think you’re responsible for Stan’s death?”
“I don’t know what to think.” The creases went deeper. “The feud . . . I don’t even know what it was about.” She made an impatient gesture. “Something stupid. Feuds always are. But what if old hurts were opened up because I tried? What if my attempts at reconciliation brought it all back? What if . . . ?”
Her strong voice wavered. Quavered. Fell apart into a choking sob. “What if it’s my fault?”
I wanted to say, That’s nuts, of course it’s not your fault. You didn’t have anything to do with Stan’s death and it’s ridiculous to think so.
But I didn’t know what was true anymore. So I took her hand. Held it tight between mine.
And didn’t let go.
• • •
Eddie and I sat on the houseboat’s front deck that night, watching the sun go down and the stars come out. At least I was watching the sun and the stars. Eddie was alternating between being a motionless cat statue and chasing the tip of his tail as if his life depended on it.
I’d turned off all the lights in the cabin to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and a sense of invisibility had enveloped me. No one could see me, and since I was lying quietly on the chaise lounge, no one could hear me. But I could hear them.
A few boats down, a new couple was welcoming friends to their boat. Wine corks and beer cans were popping open, toasts were being toasted, and a wild happiness was emanating from all.
Closer, a woman with small children was trying to convince her youngsters that, yes, it was bedtime, that just because they were still awake didn’t mean it wasn’t time for sleepy eyes and if they wanted to go to the beach tomorrow, they’d better get into bed right now, and don’t make me count to three. One, two . . .
Next door, Louisa and Ted were putting away the dinner dishes they’d just washed. Silverware rattled and plates tinked as they chatted in voices too low for me to hear. Not that I was trying to hear, of course. Eavesdropping was a nasty habit and those who indulged in it often heard things they didn’t want to hear. Take the time when I was five and had listened in on my older brother and his girlfriend when they—
“He got what he deserved,” Gunnar Olson said.
Eddie, whom I saw in silhouette against the lights of the dock, perked up his ears and turned his head to look at our other immediate neighbor, the one whose mere presence allowed me a discount rate on my boat slip. When I’d seen his lights on earlier that night, I’d wondered what he was doing up here a full two weeks before the Fourth of July, but had hoped I wouldn’t have to find out.
With Gunnar going full force, my quiet evening was done. I should go in, anyway. There were bills to pay and Eddie hair to vacuum. I swung my feet to the deck and started to stand when Gunnar’s voice boomed out through his open cabin windows. “Larabee lived about twenty years too long, if you ask me.”
Then again, listening in to someone else’s conversation could hardly be considered eavesdropping if you were sitting on your own boat enjoying the evening. I sat back down.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Gunnar said to the person on the other end of the phone. “You know, I was up here when he died.”
I bolted to my feet. I knew it! I knew I’d seen lights on his boat that night.
Eddie padded across the deck and wound around my ankles. “Mrr,” he said.
I put my finger to my lips and waved at him to keep quiet.
“Mrr.”
Why, why is it that cats only seem to understand English when it’s to their own benefit? I knelt on the deck and pulled Eddie to me. He allowed the snuggle for a second and a half, then slithered out of my grasp.
“Flew the Cessna up,” Gunnar said. “I got the itch to play a little blackjack. Good thing the cops don’t know I was in town. They’d slap me on the suspect list in a flash, with my history.” He chuckled. “The wife? Nah, she doesn’t know I came up that weekend. She thought I was in Chicago on business. . . . Sure, I told her I’d quit gambling, but this was the first time since Christmas and I won a couple hundred bucks, so it doesn’t count. Besides, she’ll never know. I didn’t get the car out of storage until today. When I was up before, I hired some local to drive me around for next to nothing.”
Which explained why there’d been no vehicle in their reserved parking spot.
“Not until tomorrow,” Gunnar said. “She’s flying up from Grosse Pointe with some friends. Corporate jet . . . yeah. We have some wedding we have to go to in Charlevoix. . . . That’s the one. At Castle Farms. Waste of a Saturday, if you ask me.”
I thought about what he’d said about Stan. The comment about being twenty years too long—was that important? And if so, how was it important?
“Yeah, I’ll be picking her up at the airport. Pain in the butt, it’ll break up my whole day. Makes me think I should hire that local yokel to drive her around. Get her to show some cleavage and bet it’ll be even cheaper.”
He laughed. My fists clenched. This guy was really getting on my nerves. Maybe next year I’d chin up to the expense and pay full price for a slip in another spot. It would mess up my student loan repayment schedule, but it might be worth it to move away from this yahoo.
“Some guy I met at the bar,” Gunnar said. His voice faded and was replaced by the clinking of ice cubes and the pouring of liquid. “Yeah, he’s . . .”
But I couldn’t hear what he said. Chilson wasn’t exactly a huge metropolis, so odds were good that I knew whom he’d hired to drive him around. That, or I knew someone who knew him.
And when I did track down the driver, a few pointed questions would be in order. Question number one—did you drop Gunnar off at the farmhouse where Stan died? Two. Did you pick him up later? Three. Had he been carrying anything? Say, a rifle?
In the name of trying to keep my head literally down, I got down onto the deck in case Gunnar looked out a window, and crawled on my hands and knees to the very front of my boat’s bow. I always docked nose out to take best advantage of the lake view, and the tip of my boat matched the midship region of Olson’s vessel. Luckily, that was its galley area and was where Gunnar was pouring himself a drink.
Closer, closer . . . I poked my head outside the railing. Heard snippets of words, but nothing clear. Close, but not close enough. I rose to a crouch and slid outside my boat’s railing, put my toes on the deck’s edge, grabbed the top railing with one hand, and leaned out as far as I could.
“Nah,” Gunnar was saying. “That’s the last thing I’m worried about. This guy isn’t any mental giant. Says he reads a lot. Comic books, maybe.” He laughed.