Though he lived on the East Coast, Oscar couldn’t say whether he’d ever had seafood that fresh. “It smells delicious, and I can’t wait to try it. And speaking of fishing and fishermen,” he said, looking at Joe as Bella darted off, “I saw a boat out on Lake Michigan the other night. Just before the sun went down—seemed too late for fishing, and it wasn’t going fast enough to be a sunset cruise. In fact, it was going very slowly until it came to a stop right out there. Then the guy on it dropped something over the side into the water. Looked like a big bundle. Any idea what that might’ve been?”
The police chief took his time finishing the trio of ketchup-laden fries he’d just stuck in his mouth before responding. “Well,” he said in that easy, drawling voice that sounded as if it might catch up to the end of his thoughts by next week, “that’s a good question, there, Oscar. You said they were dropping something over the side, there? On the big lake? Sure as hell hope it wasn’t trash.”
Oscar hoped so too. “It was a bundle about this big.” He showed them, estimating about three feet square. “Seems like if you’re going to throw trash over, you’d throw something bigger—it wasn’t the size of a trash bag. It definitely wasn’t a fishing net.”
“Did it look heavy? Could you tell? How far out was it?” Declan asked, digging into his own lake trout dinner. “Can’t see that far from the porch over there.”
“I was on top of the lighthouse and had a pair of binoculars,” Oscar said. “Maybe it was about a quarter or a half-mile away. Two guys tossed the bundle over—it didn’t seem like they were struggling with it, so I’d say it wasn’t very heavy.”
Joe narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what that could be, but I’ll do some checking around. Did you see a name or markings on the boat? What kind was it?”
“Say a forty-footer. I don’t know much about boats…looked like a decent speedboat. I didn’t see any markings, but it was white with blue and green swooshes on it near the back—the, uh, stern, I guess it is.” Oscar bit into the venison burger and immediately fell in love. Bella was right—the thick slice of onion added just the perfect flavor to the brioche bun and the mountain of mustard he’d added to the sandwich. “The thing is, it looked like a package—sort of tied up or taped up or something.”
Joe’s expression became serious, and Oscar got the impression that despite his easy manner of speaking, the man was sharp as any city cop or detective. “All right, then. Thank you for the information. I’ll check with the sheriff and the Coast Guard and see if they know anything. When was this? Date and time. And specific location.” He pulled out a small pad of paper with a pen.
Oscar told him, ending, “That was the night Teddy and I got locked up on top of the lighthouse.”
“You what?” Baxter asked, his face lighting up with humor. “That would have been a great story—besides being a craft brewer, I do freelance journalism for some of the local papers and a couple magazines.”
“I’m not sure T.J. Mack would want her readership to know she accidentally got locked outside the top of a lighthouse and couldn’t figure out how to get down,” Declan said with a laugh. “Considering that she writes about a Jason Bourne kind of guy who’s always getting out of sticky situations.”
“But that’s what would make it a great human-interest piece,” Baxter said earnestly. “I really want to do a story on her anyway.” He looked at Oscar. “Maybe you could ask her.” He turned to Declan. “Or you could.”
“I’m not willing to risk asking her anything till she finishes the book,” Oscar told him. “It’s just too dangerous. But when she’s done…assuming I get the right sort of bribe…” He lifted his empty glass.
They laughed, and Baxter ordered another round of the porter and the wheat beer. Everyone was very grateful when he left the shandy off the list.
* * *
As had become his habit, Oscar wore earplugs and played white noise on his laptop that night. And thanks to the beer and a good meal, he slept like a baby.
The next morning, the kitchen showed some signs of life. The to-go container he’d brought back was empty except for an unused packet of ketchup, and he found a plate in the dish drainer and the toaster out of whack from its position against the backsplash on the counter.
He futzed around in his lab and, just for the hell of it, went on a long hike to take samples from other freshwater sources in the area. Not a bad idea to compare them with the hot springs—and Lake Michigan itself. It felt good to get out and walk around, and it was hot enough that he doused himself in a small creek.
He read a book, perused a few scientific journals that had begun to stack up, and did some drafting of a new paper he wanted to submit by the fall. And tried not to think about the spiky snowflake microbes as being anything but simply unique—definitely not supernatural. He was glad, in retrospect, that he hadn’t asked Joe Cap anything further about the hot-spring legends.
He’d brought Teddy a sandwich for lunch, and then shared his spaghetti (made from jarred sauce that was probably part of her food stores, but he didn’t think she’d care) later that night. He studiously avoided Facebook and barely skimmed his emails. If there was any news about Marcie, he didn’t want to see it.
Counting today, only four days till D-Day. Or, rather, W-Day. Wedding Day.
Once it was over, he’d be able to move on.
He even managed to stream a James Bond flick via his Wi-Fi hub later that evening.
And so it went for that day and the next. He didn’t mind the solitude, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Teddy was going to be locked in her room for the entire month of July. He didn’t exactlymissher, but there were times when he could have used some conversation.
Not that anything was keeping him from driving into town or even up to Grand Rapids if he wanted human interaction…
At about four o’clock on the ninth day he’d been at Stony Cape, he was settled on the cottage’s porch, watching the gulls screech over Lake Michigan—a habit he’d settled into. There was something so relaxing, sitting there watching the waves, the birds, and the boats. It got so he’d begun to recognize a few—and that one white, green, and blue forty-footer that had appeared twice since the initial sighting.
But the boat didn’t stop, nor did anyone dump anything over the side, except that first time he’d seen it. He tried and failed to read the numbers on the side of the boat—just so he could tell Joe Cap—but without field glasses, he couldn’t read them. He did become captivated by a beautiful boat with a bright red sail that cruised over the water with the grace of a skater.
Oscar was nursing another B-Cubed (he was becoming a loyal fan) and contemplating life—and whether he wanted to go into Wicks Hollow again, just for a change of pace—when he heard a loud shriek.
Bolting to his feet, Oscar slammed into the cottage and ran to Teddy’s room. He flung open the door to find her dancing around, whooping and shrieking.
Either she’d been bitten by something or she’d finished her book. He was guessing the latter.
