By mid-morning they sat in the pontoon, cruising across the lake, fingers of wind that spoke of warmer temperatures combing their hair back. When they walked by Collins Outfitters, Evan waved through the open door to Jacob, who stood chatting with several customers. Jacob waved back, motioning for them to stop in later. Evan nodded, then buckled Shaun into the van and pulled away down Main Street.
They stopped at the same café as before and sat outside at the same table. While Shaun drank his malt through a straw, Evan flipped open his laptop and almost sighed with relief at seeing a Wi-Fi signal come through strong and clear. Not wasting any time, he punched Abel Kluge, Mill River, MN into the search engine and watched a few dozen hits come up. Clicking the first one, he read: Abel Kluge (1878–1920) was a prominent clockmaker during the early twentieth century. He is well known for his intricately devised pocket watches that wound using a face dial rather than the traditional stem. Although he made great innovations, such as the wristwatch, which would later become popular, his true passion was long-case clocks, or grandfather clocks. It is unclear how many grandfather clocks he made during his short career, but some historians believe the number to be somewhere near one hundred. The dark mahogany that he used to build his clocks is a primary indicator of his style, as is the double pendulum that many of the long cases contained.
An emigrant from Hungary, Abel first made a name for himself when he moved to America in 1897. Settling in Chicago with his young wife, Larissa, he began to produce highly sought-after timepieces from a small shop on the north side of the city. His renown grew quickly, and although being rumored as a “man without character,” soon Kluge had made enough money to retire, which he did in the winter of 1905.
Little is known of his life after moving from Chicago. The small town of Mill River, Minnesota, became his and Larissa’s home, and after the completion of a veritable mansion in comparison to the other structures in the town at the time, Abel Kluge receded from the art of clock making altogether.
Until his death in 1920, he and his wife lived in seclusion, relying on a small staff of maids and butlers to venture into Mill River for supplies. On November 10, 1920, a member of the staff received no reply from the Kluge’s third-floor bedroom, and upon entering, found Larissa seated in one corner of the room, dead. There were no wounds on her body, and cause of death was ruled natural. Besides a small pool of blood on the floor, Abel was nowhere to be found. A subsequent search yielded nothing in the woods surrounding the property. Abel’s automobile was present and accounted for, his coat, hat, mittens, and shoes were all found in their proper places in the entry. Temperatures were near fifteen degrees Fahrenheit the night of his disappearance, and after a week the search was abandoned. Abel was officially pronounced deceased a month later. To this day, historians and theorists alike have yet to come to a conclusive answer about what may have killed Larissa Kluge and where her husband may have gone. Some theorize that Abel had a young lover in the nearby town of Mill River and slipped away with her after somehow poisoning his wife. Others contest that he merely wandered away into the night after seeing his wife had died of some natural cause, unable to continue living without her. It is a mystery that may never be solved.
Evan sat back from the laptop and gazed across the quiet highway, at the lake. He studied where he knew the island was, though he couldn’t see it. Coming back to himself, he exited out of the webpage and scanned the other articles. Most repeated what the first piece stated, and he glossed over the words until the last entry. The screen displayed an ornate page from the Mill River Chronicle, dated November 13, 1920, and highlighted in the bottom right-hand portion was an obituary. He squinted, leaning close to the screen to read the text.
Larissa Kluge: 1880–1920. Resident of Mill River since 1905. Deceased Wednesday, November 10, 1920, at her home.
Allison Kaufman: 1885–1920. Resident of Mill River since 1885. Deceased Wednesday, November 10, 1920.
“That’s too much of a coincidence, buddy.” He looked at Shaun, only partially seeing him. “Two young people in a small town both die on the same day and another disappears?”
Shaun finished his malt with a loud sucking sound. Evan chuckled.
“Was it good?”
Shaun burped a little and smiled. “Ah.”
Evan laughed harder. “Ah, like you’re satisfied?”
“Ah!” Shaun yelled.
He got up from his chair, still laughing, to kiss him on the forehead.
“You’re a card, buddy.”
“Car.”
“Yep, card.”
Evan sat and shot a quick email off to Jason, covering his ideas about the article he wanted to write. He finished it with the facts about Abel and his wife’s mysterious deaths.
“And now we wait for Uncle Jason to come through again,” he said, shutting his laptop.
Shaun stared at a crow perched on the top of a towering pine behind the café. The crow cocked its ebony head and stared back. Evan watched it for a time before finishing his cooling coffee in a few eager gulps. The sleeplessness of the night before hadn’t caught up with him yet, and he didn’t want it to. After ordering another coffee to go from the waitress, he glanced at the pine tree again as they got up to leave. The crow was gone.
The sun brightened the day further, warming the air into a promise of summer. When they parked the van at Collins Outfitters, Evan’s heart lightened at the thought of his afternoon plans. He carried Shaun into the store and stopped inside the door. A smell of minnows pervaded the air, but other than that, the shop looked clean and tidy, with racks of fishing poles beside coolers, stacks of tackle boxes, and several hangers full of sweatshirts and rain gear.
“Ho! There they be,” Jacob said, as he strode into the main area of the shop from a rear entrance. “Good mornin’ ta ya both.” He shook Shaun’s hand and lightly slapped Evan on the arm.
“Good morning,” Evan said. “Looked like you were busy earlier.”