Black Otter Bay (40 page)

Red sat back, incredulous.

“Come on, think about it,” Arlene said. “He's only eight years old, and he's never been away from Black Otter Bay before. He's got his uncle with him, and besides, what does he know about Disney World? Hell, you can go ask him right now and he'll probably tell you he's never been to Chicago in his life.”

“Well, if you're going to get kidnapped,” Owen interjected, “I guess that would be the way to go.”

Mrs. Bean returned to her seat at the table, with Sheriff Fastwater and Leonard hauling along extra chairs for themselves. Arlene adjusted the place setting in front of her, then tightened up the dangling bracelets on her wrist while studying her brother. When he was settled in next to the postmistress, Arlene said, “So let me see if I have this right. Dan Simon was working undercover in the Ardito family in Chicago when he heard about the kidnapping. He promised Randall a quick deal on the Bengston property in exchange for Ben's safety.”

Red cleared his throat and said, “What I want to know is, how in the hell did Dan ever get involved with the mafia in the first place?”

“He wasn't in the mafia,” Owen explained, not even trying to hide his exasperation. “Haven't you been listening? He was working undercover.”

“Dan always was a little wild,” Arlene said, eyeing the sheriff. “He'd been in Chicago for years, so it was just a matter of time before he hooked up with the wrong crowd.”

“You don't know that,” Sheriff Fastwater said.

Arlene sat back, unaccustomed to having her viewpoint questioned. Then she folded her hands on the table before her and tightened her expression into a professional scowl. Like a teacher addressing a class, she said, “The Chicago mob has worked Duluth for a long time, but always in the background, through politics or the trade unions. Recently, they've become more active, and we've been on the lookout for the person working this end.”

Before she could continue, Mrs. Bean asked, “Did Dan say he was that person?”

“Of course not.” Sarcasm oozed from Arlene's lips. “What's he going to say? ‘Oh, by the way, I joined the mafia and here are my contacts.'” She directed a haughty look at the postmistress. “It's obvious he's the connection. He knows Duluth and the people up here—he's perfect for the role. Besides,” she added, looking at her brother, “he didn't have to confess, because your honorable constable here arrested him.”

The sheriff took a leisurely sip of his coffee and eyed her over the rim of the cup. “For the record, Arlene, I didn't arrest him. There aren't any charges against him. He's explaining things to the authorities in Duluth, and then he's free to go.”

“Free to go? Are you out of your mind?”

Fastwater held his hands out as if deflecting her anger. “Hey, you've got the Ardito family now. You know that Eddie Ardito was laundering money through Randall's businesses and that his family intended to develop the Bengston property, which, by the way, is now going to the state. It'll become a roadside rest area, with a public picnic spot on the shore.”

“Dan Simon is the connection,” Arlene insisted. “He's part of it.”

“You know,” Mrs. Bean said in a conciliatory manner, “it's a long way from running underwear up the post office flagpole to working for the mafia. He's Matthew's brother, after all, and he deserves our patience.”

“He ran us off the road,” Arlene argued. “He could have killed us.”

Fastwater sipped his coffee, looked around the table, and said, “Or he could have been trying to keep you out of harm's way.”

Arlene sat up straight, thrusting her large frame into the argument. “Well, that would be a pretty stupid way to keep us safe,” she sneered.

The sheriff sat forward, leaning on his forearms to speak privately to his sister, but aware that everyone at the table was listening. His black eyes glistened as he said, “You're wrong about him, Arlene. Randall is your connection. Dan was working undercover. He's been with the feds since his Army discharge. They're hiding him in Duluth, keeping him out of the public eye to preserve his cover.”

Silence. Arlene's mind whirled through the facts. She could see by the look on her brother's face that he was telling the truth, but she remained skeptical. Everyone at the table expected her to refute his words, and she tried to speak, but the implications of what he'd said held her in check. Before she could launch another argument, Abby quietly appeared at Mrs. Bean's side. The girl looked around the table, saw the faces hovering in anticipation of something, and knew that she was interrupting.

Abby's braid had been brushed out for church, and her thick black hair hung in a gentle ripple down her back. She'd recovered her Minnesota Twins baseball cap, however, and she wore it now to hold the heavy waves in place. Ben stood at her side.

Arlene's frown still dominated the table, but with no one speaking up, Abby finally looked down at Mrs. Bean. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said.

The postmistress grabbed Abby's hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Why, whatever for, dear?”

“Well, for being there when I called for help on the radio.”

The postmistress laughed, causing her violet-blue eyes to twinkle with delight. “I should be the one thanking you,” she said, patting Abby's hand. “Most nights I only get calls from sleepy truck drivers looking for someone to talk to. For at least one night you justified Thunderbird's existence.”

Owen and Red chuckled, and even the sheriff brightened up with the apparent change of subject.

But then Arlene asked, “How is your Uncle Dan? Did you see much of him down in Duluth?”

Sheriff Fastwater leaned forward again. “Come on, Arlene. This isn't a courtroom.”

“Uncle Dan is fine,” Abby said. “It was lucky Randall didn't shoot him, too.”

“Well, there's no honor among thieves,” Arlene said.

“Oh, Uncle Dan isn't a thief,” Abby replied. “He's a U.S. Marshal. I just wish he could go fishing with us, but he can't get away right now.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Arlene muttered under her breath, but contrition softened her expression as she looked at her grinning brother.

Marcy was taking a break at the next table, sitting with Matthew and eavesdropping on Abby's conversation, along with almost everyone else in the café. Her elbows were on the table, her chin resting in her hands, and now she leaned toward Matthew to say, “Red told me the walleye fishing is picking up. Where are you guys going?”

Matthew was slow to answer. Marcy could see his thoughts wandering far away. With both hands, he held his coffee cup in front of his face, as if hiding in the bushes while spying on Abby. His eyes squinted over at Marcy, flicked back to his daughter, and then out of the blue, he said, “My little girl is suddenly so grown up. She's going to be even more beautiful than her mother. How am I ever going to get through this?”

Marcy laughed. “Are you kidding me? Abby's a great kid. I think the bigger question is, what's she going to do with you?”

Matthew smiled, set his cup down, and leaned back. Running a finger under the collar of his shirt, he exhaled a deep sigh while continuing to study his daughter. Folks at the next table were getting up, gathering their belongings and preparing to leave. “We had a trip planned up to Lake Oja before all this happened,” he said. “The kids still want to go, so I guess we'll set up camp out there for a couple of nights.” His gaze went around the room, and he nodded at Owen and Red as they stood up to leave. It almost seemed like an accident when his roaming eyes landed on Marcy again. “Want to come along?” he asked.

The blush rose on her face so fast she had to look away. Her breath stuck in her throat, and she'd suddenly lost all control over the pounding of her heart. She started to get up, but then sat down again. Arlene's flowing gown caught her eye, as did the surge of customers making to leave. Then she spotted the old lake trout over the door, and she focused her attention on the greasy mat of dust along its back.

Matthew stood up. “It's okay if you can't go. I know it's kind of short notice.”

“Oh, no, it's just fine,” Marcy stammered, and then she banged her knee on the table leg while trying to get up. Matt hadn't noticed, and she winced at the pain while limping behind him toward the door. Her thoughts and emotions were all mixed up, and it didn't help that the trauma of last week's adventures still lingered so close beneath the surface. She couldn't seem to look away from the big fish on the wall. It was like it was watching her, too, and saying, “So now what? Are you planning to leave us again?”

Marcy wanted with all her heart to go camping, but at the same time she desperately needed to be home, to immerse herself in the routines of the café while forgetting about the nightmare of last week. She wanted to greet the morning regulars again, and listen to their bantering and stupid jokes. Who knows, maybe she'd even get the ladder out and clean that old lake trout.

Near the door, Matthew stopped and turned around to face her. From the anguish on her face, he knew she wasn't going camping. He took her hand, saying, “It's okay.”

“I'll be here when you get back.”

He smiled. “I know.”

A round of laughter erupted outside, and they stepped through the door to join everyone on the large front landing. Ben pointed over the rooftops of town. “Look, Dad!” he called.

People moved aside to make room for them. Some of the folks pointed and chattered, but all of them were grinning and laughing. Matthew and Marcy stepped between the sheriff and Mrs. Bean, following their gaze out over the town. It took a moment, but they burst into laughter when they saw it: from the highest flagpole over the post office fluttered the tattered remnants of a faded red union suit.

T
HE
E
ND

Acknowledgements

A word of thanks to the talented folks at North Star Press; Corinne, Anne, and Curtis, who make it look so effortless. A special thank you to Lorna Landvik; you've been an inspiration, mentor, and friend for twenty-five years. And to Jane St. Anthony, for all the advice and counsel along the way.

I'm grateful for all the words of encouragement from family and friends, and a sincere shout-out to everyone in the Nokomis neighborhood; it's so great to be a part of this community.