October through April, I lived with Aunt Frances, my dad’s widowed sister, the aunt with whom I’d stayed during my childhood summers. Come warmer weather, however, I shooed myself out the front door to make way for her summer boarders. Every spring, she said I could stay, but I loved my houseboat, the camaraderie of Uncle Chip’s Marina, most of my neighbors, and all of the many moods of Janay Lake.
During a dinner of chicken stir-fry (for me) and dry cat food (Eddie), I told Eddie that Stephen had asked me to de-Mitchell-ize the library. My uninterested cat offered no advice, but he did jump up on the bench next to me and purr, so he was helpful in a different way.
After dinner the two of us wandered out to the boat’s deck, skirting my one flowerpot and the metal bucket I’d been filling with skipping stones. Eddie trotted out in front and claimed the chaise longue to the left, so I took the remaining one, the one that needed sanding and painting. I’d covered both with flowery cushions, and you could hardly see the maintenance that needed doing, but still.
“How do you do that?” I asked my feline friend. “Okay, sure, cats deserve the best, but shouldn’t that apply only to cat-oriented things, not people things?”
Eddie sat in the middle of the chaise’s cushion and licked his hind leg.
“Cats,” I muttered, and flopped down.
For a moment, I just lay there, listening to the sounds of water and wind and summer, smelling lake and from somewhere, fresh-cut grass, feeling the sun on my face, enjoying the warmth on my skin, enjoying the freedom that comes from outside temperatures that allowed you to wear shorts and T-shirt and not be a single bit cold.
“Mrr.”
I jerked out of a light doze, fluttering the newspaper I held in my hand. “Right,” I said. “What do you want first? Front section or sports?” Eddie gave me the are-you-an-idiot-or-what? glance. “Silly me. I forget how you need to have things read to you in order.”
The last couple of weeks, I’d fallen into the habit of reading the newspaper to Eddie. Reading out loud to a cat may be an extremely strange thing to do, but I found Eddie’s reactions entertaining. “Here’s one,” I said, and Eddie flopped down into his listening position. To non–cat owners, it might look as if he was sleeping, but I could tell from the way his ears twitched that he was paying attention.
In synopsis form, I read him an account of a local township board meeting. “Looks like they’re fighting over lake access again in Williams Township. Same old same old.” I scanned the article. “Yep. Adjacent property owners want it closed. Everyone else wants it open.”
Eddie slapped his tail against the cushion.
“Yeah, I know, all lake access points should be used only by cats.” I looked at him over the top of the paper. “But would you ever use one?”
He fixed his gaze on the horizon. Slap, slap, slap.
I almost started to argue with him but realized just in time that I would lose. “Fine. Next up is…” The rest of the front page was taken up with nothing Eddie would care about. The opening of a new movie theater, a local student winning a scholarship. I turned the page.
“Hey, how about this one?” I asked. “You know that TV cooking show, Trock’s Troubles? The one that’s filmed up here a few times each summer?”Actually Eddie didn’t know since the houseboat didn’t have a television. Come October it would be different, because Aunt Frances was a devoted fan.
Trock Farrand, the bumbling host of the long-running show, owned a summer home not far from Chilson and he’d persuaded the show’s producers to film the show at various area locations from Trock’s home kitchen to his patio to farm markets to the occasional restaurant. My best friend, Kristen, owner of the Three Seasons Restaurant, was on a short list and she was torn between excitement and anxiety.
Eddie’s ears had pricked at the name of the show, so I went on. “This says Trock was out on his bicycle yesterday and was almost run over by a car. He was out on that road that runs right next to Lake Michigan, and he fell halfway down the bluff.”
I paused, thinking. Farrand had been lucky to escape with the scrapes and bruises the article described. Tumbling down that steep hillside covered with scrub trees, briars, and who knew what else, he could easily have had a serious injury.
Eddie jumped down from his seat and up onto mine. He bumped the back of the paper with his head.
“Right. Sorry.” I read through the rest of the article. “He says it was a black SUV with tinted windows that ran him off the road.”
“Mrr.” Eddie turned around twice and, finally facing the water, settled himself onto my legs.
“Yeah, doesn’t narrow things down much, does it? That’s what probably half the summer people drive.”
“Mrr.”
I started to pet him. “No, I’m not going to get a black SUV with tinted windows just because you want one. Think of how your cat hair would look on black upholstery.”
He turned his head around to look at me.
“Fine. When I get a black SUV, which is unlikely unless I win the lottery, which is unlikely unless I start playing it, we’ll get leather seats.” Although that would be problematic in a different way since Eddie still had all his claws.
But my nonsensical capitulation must have satisfied Mr. Ed, because he started purring. Clearly, he was done with the newspaper.
Smiling, I closed it. “If you’re done, I’m done, pal.”
“Mrr.”
Chapter 4
Early the next morning, I woke to the unmistakable noise of a cat doing something that he shouldn’t.
“Eddie, whatever you’re up to, stop it.”
He, of course, ignored me and went on making odd noises out in the kitchen area.
Growling to myself about cats and mornings and alarm clocks, I rolled out of bed, and padded down the short hallway and up the three steps in my bare feet and jammies. At the top of the stairs, I stood over him, hands on my hips. “Although it’s more what you’re down to, isn’t it?”
He looked up at me with an expression that could only be saying, “Who, me?”
“Yes, you.” I kicked at the newspaper he’d pulled off the top of the recyclables pile and dragged to the middle of the floor. “What is it with you and paper products? Paper towels, newspapers. And last month it was stuff out of the printer. What are you going to attack next week?” I almost said toilet paper but kept my suggestion to myself and crouched down to gather up his minor mess.
“I suppose I should be grateful you hadn’t started shredding this stuff. Having to pick up tiny pieces of newsprint first thing in the morning would be truly annoying.” I tried to arrange the papers in a neat pile by shoving them around. Didn’t get very far.
Eddie appeared to be finding my efforts interesting to the point that he was stretching out with his front paw to tap the paper. “Oh, quit. This isn’t a cat toy, okay?” I looked at the date. “This is yesterday’s paper and…” My voice faded away as I caught sight of an article I hadn’t noticed the night before.
“Check this out, Eddie. A boat exploded out on Lake Michigan.”
My furry friend edged closer, his paw still extended. I moved the paper up out of his reach. His easy reach, anyway. “The boat’s owner was blown clear and picked up by a nearby boat. Marine experts are investigating the cause.”
The short paragraph hadn’t told me—the owner of a boat—nearly enough. Had the guy been hurt? Had the boat sunk? What had caused the explosion? Every good boat owner knew that you had to air an inboard engine before you started it in case noxious gases had collected in the engine well, but that boat had been out on the lake. Of course, maybe he’d—