I headed south, settling in for the two-hour trip to Bay Harbor. I-75 took me down to the Mackinac Bridge, and then when I crossed into the Lower Peninsula, I headed southwest on M-31, right down the Lake Michigan shoreline. When I hit Petoskey, I saw Vargas’s store in the middle of town. The sign read “The Vargas Custom Home Center.” I could see a big whirlpool tub in one front window, and in the other some kitchen cabinets made from dark cherry. Everything else was green plants and gold finishings and lots of mirrors. I would have stopped in to say hello, and maybe to ask him about who might have been in my cabin the night before, but I had that ten o’clock appointment and I was running late.
When I left Petoskey behind me, it was just open shoreline again, with the lake on my right and the hills of sand and grass and low trees on my left. The sky was blue, the air was clear-it was a beautiful stretch of land to build on, no doubt about it. I couldn’t blame them for dropping their new town here. And at the same time, I knew the awful truth. Vargas was right. As beautiful as it was down here, it was even better on Lake Superior.
It was only a matter of time.
With that cheery thought in my head, I came around the last bend in the road and hit Bay Harbor. The yacht club was first, with the white gatehouse made to look like a lighthouse. Then the golf club. And then, God help us all, the huge Bay Harbor Equestrian Center high on the hill, overlooking everything.
It was all new money, that was the problem. I already knew all about old money. Hell, the Fulton family had enough money to buy this whole town. They had a cabin not far from Whitefish Point, in fact, if you can call a six-thousand-square-foot building a “cabin.” The thing was, you never saw it. There was an unmarked road, at least a mile long, before you even knew it was there.
I had heard of a place, out on the western side of the Upper Peninsula, called the Huron Mountain Club. The Fultons, and people like them, automotive money from Detroit, old money, they’d go to the club, do their hunting and fishing. You never saw them. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could even find the club if my life depended on it.
That was the difference. Old money has always been around. They just know enough to be discreet about it. New money has to flaunt it. They have to put it right in your face. That’s what I was thinking as I passed the equestrian center and looked for the right entrance to get to Kenny’s place. Bay Harbor was new money at its worst.
When I found the entrance, I pulled in and stopped at the gatehouse. It was surrounded by flowers and was so white it looked like it had been painted that morning. A man in a uniform came walking out. It said “Bay Harbor Security” on his hat.
“Good morning,” I said. “I’m here to see Kenny Heiden.”
The man looked my truck over.
“A hundred and forty thousand miles,” I said. “And still going strong. It’s a lot more dependable than my Rolls Royce.”
He gave me a look. I was really making his day. “Your name, sir?”
“Alex McKnight.”
He looked on his clipboard. “Mr. Heiden is number forty-two,” he said. “Take a left and go down about halfway. The house will be on your right.”
I thanked the man, waited for him to press his button and raise the big white stick in front of me, and then I rolled through. As I looked back in my rearview mirror, I couldn’t help wondering if he was calling in the surveillance team. Dilapidated truck heading for unit forty-two, make sure he leaves without incident.
On my way to Kenny’s place, I passed a few million dollars worth of houses on either side of the street. Every house was some sort of neo-Victorian, each more elaborate than the last, with lots of windows facing the lake. I saw one man outside his house, washing a black Mercedes. He barely glanced up at me as I passed him, probably thought I was there to work on somebody’s yard.
Kenny’s house was as grandiose as the others on the street. He answered the door wearing blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt. He was barefoot.
“Come on in,” he said. “You got through the gate okay?”
“The guy didn’t look too happy about it,” I said. “But yeah, no problem.”
“They get kind of fussy out there,” he said. “It comes with the territory.”
He led me through the living room and into the kitchen. The place was an absolute knockout. The furniture was beautiful, the paintings were beautiful, the plants were beautiful, and not one thing was overdone or out of place. It all went together like something out of a magazine. When I looked out at his deck, it got even better. There were a lot more plants out there, some white wicker patio furniture, a huge green umbrella you could hold a wedding under, and a grill that looked like it could handle the reception afterwards.
“Most of this is from Vargas’s store,” he said. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You obviously know how to put a house together. That’s what you do for Vargas, right?”
“I’m his lead designer, yes.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“Like I said, it’s kinda weird down at the store this week anyway. You want to sit out on the porch? Is it too early for a beer?”
“Ten o’clock is not too early,” I said.
His refrigerator was huge, and it had the same wooden finish as the rest of the kitchen. He grabbed a couple of bottles and led me out onto the deck. I had to stand at the railing for a few moments, just drinking it all in. There was a pristine beach just below us, and then the blue water of Lake Michigan sparkling in the sunlight. A stiff wind was coming in off the lake.
“Is it always this windy?” I asked. My eyes were already starting to water.
“This is nothing,” he said. “You know what somebody just told me? Apparently, the Indians never used to camp on this part of the shoreline, because the constant wind would blow their tents over.”
“It’s gotta be tough on these houses. Were they built to stand up to it?”
He smiled as he sat down under the flapping umbrella. “Wouldn’t that be funny if they weren’t?”
I sat down across from him. “I won’t waste your time,” I said. “I want to ask you about the other night.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “Ask me anything. I have nothing to hide.”
I looked him in the eye. “Apparently, not that many people knew about the money in Vargas’s safe. Whoever put this thing together was obviously one of those people.”
“So naturally you assume the queer did it,” he said. “Those men were three of my rough boyfriends.”
“I’m not saying anything like that,” I said. “Not at all. I’m just asking if you have any ideas.”
He kept looking me in the eye. “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I thought it might have been you. You were the stranger there that night.”
“I was the one man who didn’t know about the safe.”
“That’s true,” he said. “But even so…”
“Let me ask you this,” I said. “In all the time you’ve known Vargas…How long is that, anyway?”
“Twelve years.”
“Okay, but say in the last year or so, since he built that house, have you ever heard him tell anybody else about the safe?”
“I haven’t,” he said. “In fact, I was surprised he said anything at all. I mean, I could see he was hammered, but still…Normally, he’s very private about his personal finances.”
“Okay, so if it had to be one of the players, who do you think it is?”
“That’s not up to me to say, is it? The police arrested those three men. I assume they had a good reason.”
“What about Swanson?”
“I don’t know the man,” he said. “Except that he’s a good poker player. He can bluff like nobody you’ve ever seen.”
I leaned back in my chair, took a long swallow of cold beer. “Why do you play cards with Vargas, anyway?” I said. “He treats you like a trained monkey.”