“Oh, there’s plenty to do,” Mrs. Haviland says. “And don’t worry. I’ll find another violation to keep you from working. I’ll put you out of business if I have to.”
Reid moves toward her, his hands clenched, but Seton blocks his path. “Keep it civil, Reid,” she says.
“Do something, then,” Reid says. “Your mother’s trespassing.”
“I’m inmyboat, on thepeople’slake,” Mrs. Haviland says. “Public access. No one owns the waterways—not you or your rich friends.”
Seton takes a deep breath. “She can be anywhere she wants on the water.”
The conversation is getting heated, too heated. I announce my presence by catching a stone with the toe of my shoe and letting it skitter across the dock and into the water. I add a little stumble for effect as Seton spins to face me. “I told you to stay out of this,” she says.
“Kilgore and Haviland?” I say.
“Thanks, hack,” she says. “And it’sHaviland and Kilgore.”
“Charlie Bear!” Reid says, his shoulders relaxing. “Nice cardigan. You’re rocking the geezer look.”
While I dress like an old man, my brother opts for a carefully cultivated aesthetic of expensive thick-rimmed glasses and the plaid flannel that helps him blend in on a construction site.
“Don’t listen to him,” Paul says, pulling me in for a hug.
I nod toward Mrs. Haviland’s hockey cap. “We did a story at the station on the women’s hockey league last month. Have you been to any of the games?”
“A few,” she says.
“You and I should go together sometime. It’s easy enough for me to get to Lowell. We could meet there.”
One of my strengths is that no one takes me seriously, so I can defuse almost any situation.
Mrs. Haviland offers a hint of a smile. “The season’s over, but maybe next year,” she says. “If I’m still talking to you.”
She flips on the boat’s blower and turns the key. The engine chugs and then roars to life as she hauls the anchor on board. “Good to see you, Charlie,” she says. “I’ll catch you on the lake this summer. We can go water-skiing. The rest of you can go to hell. And don’t think about starting up construction, Reid. Not a single nail.”
As she speeds away, Reid turns on Seton. “She reported an OSHA violation and got us shut down. That’s the third time she’s done this. I’m bleeding money, and if we can’t start up by Tuesday, I’ll lose my crew.”
Seton raises her hands. “If you want to keep from getting shut down, Reid, play by the rules.”
“Tell your mother to stay away from us.”
“The waterispublic access,” Seton says. “My mom can take her boat wherever she wants, even right up to the end of your dock, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
A voice behind me says, “Let it alone, Reid. Seton’s doing her job.”
I turn to see my mother, Jane, emerge from the half-constructed home, her silver-kissed curls spilling from beneath a hard hat, a scarf tied around her neck, tan work boots poking from under the hem of her blue summer dress.
“Hi, Jane,” I say.
My mother kisses my cheek. “Thanks for coming, Seton,” she says, “but the situation’s under control.”
Seton’s resolve melts a bit. “I’m sorry about all this, Mrs. Reid.”
“Call me Jane. Charlie does,” my mother says, scowling at me. “And ‘Mrs. Reid’ makes me feel old.”
Once Seton leaves in her cruiser, my mother glares after Andrea Haviland’s retreating boat, now a dot on the horizon. Nothing pisses my mother off more than an idle construction site. “One of these days,” she says, “Andrea Haviland will get herself killed.”
Chapter Five
Reid and my mother confer by the construction site, while Paul Burke stands with me on the end of the dock. He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. In the last few years, gray has crept into his hair and eyebrows, but he maintains the slender physique and effortless style of someone used to walking the streets of Manhattan. Today, he wears a gauzy white shirt open at the neck and tailored pants. “I left Burkehaven behind a long time ago,” he says. “I’m ready to move on, though try telling that to Andrea Haviland. Somehow, she’s morphed into a crazy old lady.”
