The Secrets of Lake Road

After the sheriff left, Dee Dee grabbed a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator. She turned off all the lights and stepped outside to sit on the porch swing in the dark and think. She often sat alone deep into the night, staring out at the lake, drinking beer with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Some might say she had a problem, drinking alone in the dark undercover. Maybe she did. But she had stopped caring what other people thought a long time ago. So what if she drank herself numb most nights? She wasn’t hurting anyone and how many people could say the same thing? Not many by her estimation. Not many at all.

A cool breeze blew from the water. The storm broke the humidity at least for a little while. She popped the tab on the can. The sheriff was right. She needed to keep things in perspective and try not to put too much into a pair of bones. It could prove to be nothing. But what if it proved to be something?

She downed the beer and crushed the empty can in her hand, the blister screaming in protest. She reached for another can.





CHAPTER SEVEN

It was early evening the next day, and the little girl was still missing.

Jo stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her head. She was wearing her favorite low-rise jeans and a white T-shirt. She felt a little better after showering, but the pack of cigarettes she had smoked while sitting on Eddie’s dock that afternoon in the hot sun had added to her already pounding head.

It had taken two hours for the text message to go through to Kevin telling him he needed to get to the lake, that they may have found Billy’s bones. She wasn’t sure what it meant, if it meant anything, but she wanted him here. While she had fiddled with the phone, she watched the underwater recovery team search the lake to no avail.

She rubbed her brow.

Gram walked past, her purse slung over her shoulder. She was wearing one of her staple outfits for special occasions—a pair of blue cotton pants and matching blouse.

“Where are you going?” Jo asked, and removed the towel from her head. The thick tousles draped over her shoulders, soaking her T-shirt almost instantly.

“Frank Heil called an association meeting.” Gram shot her a sideways glance and continued for the door.

“I’m coming with you.” She tossed the towel onto the kitchen table and ran her fingers through her hair.

Gram stopped and stared at her. “Why? You were never interested in these meetings before.”

“Well, I am now.”

*

They piled into Gram’s Oldsmobile, a big green four-door sedan Pop had bought her before he had died. He had joked about how Gram couldn’t hurt herself if she happened to bounce off a few trees in what he nicknamed the Loch Ness, a battle-ax of a car. It had been five years since he had passed of heart failure right there in the cabin in his bed, sleeping peacefully next to Gram. It wasn’t until the next morning that Gram had become aware he was gone. Since then, the Loch Ness endured several run-ins with posts, curbs, and Jo’s bumper, but so far it had stayed away from any trees.

Jo smiled on the inside, remembering Pop, the father she loved. He had been a good man, a solid man who had been grounded in his beliefs of right and wrong, who had tried not to judge her or her decisions, although in the end, he had done just that. And still, at times like now, she missed him all the more.

Gram backed out of the parking space, nicking the fence post. “Holy crow’s nest,” she said, and threw the car in drive.

Jo held onto the oh shit handle as Gram ran over every pothole on the way to the Pavilion. She blew past the stop sign on Lake Road and slid into the parking lot. Her usually open face was closed in a stern expression, a look she typically reserved for Jo. Then again, Frank Heil and his association meetings had that kind of effect on Gram and most people around there.

They got out of the car without talking. Jo followed Gram in silence up the steps to the second floor, where the meeting was being held. Eddie was behind the bar. He squeezed Jo’s shoulder and leaned over to give Gram a peck on the cheek. For a second Gram’s face opened to him, but just as quickly it closed.

“He’s fired up,” Eddie whispered loud enough for both her and Gram to hear.

Heil was on the other side of the barroom with his cohorts. One was a man by the name of Stimpy, who owned the rental boats on the lake. The other two were local fishermen, and Jonathan, who owned not one but five cabins in the colony. They all had something to lose if the beach and lake remained closed.

Other cabin owners filtered in and took their respective seats around scattered tables, leaving Sheriff Borg to sit alone. It was a known fact that Heil had the sheriff in his back packet. Freebies at the Pavilion—swim passes, rounds of drinks at the bar—kept the sheriff on Heil’s side when it came to association matters and community affairs.