Snapper (7 page)

The words blurted out of Isaac’s mouth.

“I was peeing – peeing on a rock and it started getting bigger and bigger – and then it came charging – charging out of the water!”

“Isaac, calm down,” his father said again. “A rock can’t charge out of the water.”

“It wasn’t a rock, dad, it was…”

Isaac stopped in the middle of his sentence. Grundel had suddenly burst into the clearing.

Owen Andersen immediately dropped the soapy utensils in his hands. He glanced around for something – anything – he could use as a weapon. He reached for the first thing he saw: the long, wood-handled ax that he and Isaac used to chop down trees for the cabin they were building.

Owen stood with his feet a yard apart, holding the ax like a baseball player waiting for a pitch.

Grundel charged across the clearing. Owen waited till the beast was in his strike zone, then he swung. The heavy steel ax head sliced through the air and struck Grundel’s shell. The blade sank into the horny carapace. Owen tried to free it for a second swing, but he couldn’t. The blade was wedged deep in the giant turtle’s back. Owen yanked at the handle and his feet went out from under him. He tumbled backwards onto the ground by the fire.

Grundel turned his head toward the man, hissing with rage and pain. He eyed the man malevolently, then his body shot forward, his great beak gaping open. Owen raised an arm to protect his face and throat.

The first chomp did not completely sever the hand. It cut through flesh, muscles, and veins, but only got halfway through the ulna. Without letting go, Grundel gave his jaw another squeeze. This time the hand clipped clean. Grundel clenched the detached limb in his mandible. Owen Anderson’s fingers stuck out like nails from a carpenter’s mouth.

Grundel turned. His eyes swept over the boy. The boy stood frozen. He was trembling, with saltwater tears streaming down his face.
Forget the boy,
Grundel thought:
I have the hand of the father.

Grundel clawed his way back toward the lake. The return trip was harder. The long handle of the ax jutting out from his back kept getting snagged in the twigs and branches overhead.

Chapter 7

TURTLEBACK LAKE SEPTEMBER 2006

Trimmed in dark federal green and sided in white clapboard, Clayton Realty was as charming as any storefront in downtown Turtleback Lake.

But what made it a magnet – what really stopped people as they passed by – were the houses pictured and described in its windows. No one could resist stopping to see which homes were on the market and how much they were going for. Over the last decade, real estate had become Turtleback Lake’s most lucrative industry.

Judd couldn’t remember the last time he’d put a Price Reduced sticker on a home. It had to have been back in the nineties. But now the Jensens’ wanted one on theirs.

When the season was just starting back in May, Judd practically had guaranteed the Jensens’ that they’d get their asking price – and probably thousands more.

But that was before the turtle attacks. Whatever Dr. Goode might have said to the contrary, the snapper situation in Turtleback Lake had definitely become an issue. And it wasn’t going to go away – especially with guys like that young reporter, Marc Bozian, stirring up trouble.

Looking out his office window, Judd saw Michael Schneiderman dropping off a stack of newspapers on Drucker’s front porch. Judd rose from his desk and hurried across the street. He wanted a word with Mike.

“Look, Mike,” Judd began. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t report on things like this little girl’s toe. But don’t you think those TITANIC-size headlines are a bit over the top?”

Michael eyed Judd before answering. He was tempted to tell Judd that his paper’s newsstand sales had more than doubled and that he’d gotten requests for twenty new subscriptions in the last week alone, but that might give Judd the wrong impression. Increased circulation wasn’t the goal of good journalism. It was just a happy by-product.

“I see your point, Judd,” said Michael. “But people have a right to know the facts. Swimming in the lake could be dangerous.”

“But what facts do we really know, Mike?” said Judd. “The way people are talking, you’d think the lake was stocked with piranhas. For chrissakes, people are even bringing up that old myth about a giant snapper. This Bozian guy is making it seem like we’ve got a Loch Ness Monster up here. It’s not good for the town, Mike. Just look.”

Judd reached down and pulled out a Turtleback Gazette from the stack at his feet. He opened it to the real estate page.

“Look,” he said. “Just look at all those priced reduced signs. People are dropping their prices right and left.”

Michael said nothing.

“Listen, Mike,” said Judd. “You don’t want this Bozian guy to drag the whole town under – do you?”

Mike shook his head. He understood Judd’s position. And he was glad that he wasn’t trying to sell his own home at this time.

On the other hand, it wouldn’t be a bad time to buy.

Chapter 8

TURTLEBACK LAKE JUNE 2006

Deena had mixed feelings about her cup of coffee with Judd. When they left Bonds’, Judd offered her a ride back to her cabin.

“Thanks, but no,” said Deena. “I’ve got some shopping to do.”

“I’d be glad to wait,” said Judd.

He sensed Deena was wavering.

“Just so you don’t have to carry the bags all the way back yourself,” said Judd.

Deena still thought she should say no. But she said, “Okay, sure, if you don’t mind.”

A half hour later, when they pulled up in front of Deena’s cabin, Judd popped the trunk. Then he hopped out and started lifting out Deena’s bags of groceries.

“You know,” said Judd, cradling three bags in his arms, “I’ve been inside almost every home in Turtleback Lake, but I’ve never been inside the Andersen cabin. Would you mind if I took a quick peek?”

Deena looked at the bags Judd was holding. They looked heavy.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

Once inside, Judd laid the three bags down on the kitchen counter. Then he walked over to the window and looked out toward the lake.

“Nice view,” he said.

“I know,” said Deena. “I’ve spent a lot of time looking out that window.”

Deena started putting away groceries into the cabinets above the sink. She stood on the tips of her toes, but still it was difficult for her to reach. What she really needed was a step stool. Suddenly, Judd came up from behind her.

“Here,” he said, taking a box of pasta from Deena’s outstretched hand. “Let me help.”

As Judd reached up, his body pressed against hers. The next moment, after placing the box of pasta on the top shelf, his arms enfolded her. Deena took a deep breath then let out a long sigh. She rotated slowly in Judd’s arms till they were facing each other. She exhaled again and closed her eyes. Then she lifted up her chin, and offered her slightly parted lips to Judd.

Ten minutes later they were lying on the couch. Judd was in heaven. It had been years since he’d been with a woman.

“Wow!” he said, gazing at Deena’s profile as she fixed her eyes on the ceiling. “You really are good.”

Judd was sure that Deena would find his double-entendre clever: Goode, good.

But she didn’t. She’d heard it before – too many times. And now that the passion was past, regret was moving in like a cold front. Why had she allowed Judd into her cabin?

“Is that your dissertation?” said Judd, pointing toward the stack of papers by the window.

After weeks of being alone, Deena had opened up too quickly back at Bonds’. She had even told Judd about her dissertation.

Now Judd rose from the couch and walked over to the table by the window.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, reaching toward the top sheet of paper.

Deena snapped bolt upright, pressing a pillow to her chest.

“No!”

She hadn’t meant to snap, but that’s how it sounded. Judd turned, looking both startled and hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No,” said Deena. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. It’s just that I don’t want anyone to see it till it’s finished.”

A wave of jealousy swept over Judd. Deena had just given him her body. Now she wouldn’t even let him take a peek at a pile of papers? He felt rejected. But then he remembered a little technique that he had learned in a realtor training class years before. Judd started counting slowly backwards from ten inside his head. By the time he reached zero, Judd was calm – or at least calmer.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said. “I understand completely. Please forgive me.”

“No,” said Deena. “Forgive me. I overreacted.”

*

The next morning, Deena was at her desk, shaking her head.

“What was I thinking?” she kept asking herself over and over.

Work suddenly seemed impossible. The flow of words and ideas had stopped cold, as if a tap inside her head had been turned off. Instead of gazing out at the distant white rock in the middle of the lake, Deena found herself looking toward the far shore – at a house perched high up on the hillside. Judd had pointed it out to her the previous afternoon.

“That’s my house,” he had said. “That’s where I live.”

Deena could clearly see the windows of Judd’s house from where she sat. And if she could see
his
windows, then surely he could see
hers
. With binoculars, he might even be able to see through them.

By noon, Deena had accomplished nothing. Her swim after lunch did nothing to lighten her dark mood. If anything, it made matters worse. Lying on her back out on the dock, Deena felt like an amoeba on a slide, magnified and scrutinized. She knew Judd was probably watching her. What was she supposed to do – sit up, smile, and wave?

Suddenly she felt an itch on the inside of her thigh. Yesterday she would have simply reached down and scratched herself. But today? With someone watching? It was just too much.

Finally, Deena couldn’t stand it. She stood abruptly, dove into the lake, and swam back to shore almost like she was being chased.

Since she’d been in Turtleback Lake, Deena hadn’t written a single word after one o’clock. But since she’d wasted the entire morning, she decided she’d try. But thoughts of Judd kept intruding. Could he see her through her window? Was he watching her even now? Should she lower the blinds? But then she’d lose her beautiful view. And if she lowered the blinds, Judd would know she was shutting him out. He’d feel – what?
Spurned? Shunned? Rejected?

Deena couldn’t believe it! Here she was – trying to find the right word to describe how a man she’d met only yesterday
might
feel if she were to lower her blinds. It was insanity! It was exactly the kind of thing she’d come here to get away from.

This was not what she wanted. This was not what she had been doing every day until yesterday. Everything was ruined. She cursed Judd – and she cursed herself.

Then the phone rang.

It was the first time it had rung since she’d moved in

The ring was the old-fashioned kind – just what you’d expect from an old black rotary phone. The receiver was solid and heavy. Deena knew exactly how heavy because she’d been using it as a dumbbell, doing curls in her tank top while standing in front of the mirror.

Deena was as toned as a twenty-five-year old. She liked watching her biceps pop up every time she curled the receiver toward her shoulder. Ten, fifteen reps – just like the damn phone that was ringing now. Why didn’t it stop? Who would keep ringing so long without getting an answer?

It had to be Judd – because he could
see
she was in. He probably was watching her right now as she debated whether or not to answer the phone.

Well, she would just give Mr. Judd Clayton a piece of her mind!

Deena picked up the receiver and pressed the earpiece against her right ear
–
the same ear that Judd had nibbled, then whispered into, the day before.

“Listen, you!” she snapped into the mouthpiece.

“Excuse me?” said a voice on the other end.

Deena caught herself. The voice on the line wasn’t Judd’s. It belonged to someone else – someone she had spoken to once before – and had wanted to speak to longer.

Chapter 9

TURTLEBACK LAKE 2005

When The Copelands’ bought the Grants’ house in Turtleback Lake’s prestigious Skytop neighborhood, Judd Clayton handled the sale. He made a tidy sum. But he gained something he valued even more than his commission: a new best friend for his son.

Don and Ashley Grant had been nice neighbors, but they were older and their kids were long grown and gone. The Copelands’, on the other hand, had a son, Ian, and though he was almost two years older than JJ, the two boys instantly hit it off. That first summer, JJ showed Ian all around Turtleback Lake. The two boys spent the entire summer swimming, fishing, and biking. They canoed and kayaked. They spent hours playing on an old tire swing that sent them flying far out into the lake. They even liked the same kind of music, the same books, the same movies. The biggest difference between them was sports.