At Witt's End (15 page)

"Can't you draw up another will and back date it? I'll take it to your attorney. He won't know the difference. As long as your signature's on it, it's valid."

"Sadie. Shame on you.” Theo grinned. “I could do that, but I won't."

"You can't cash them in the parallel world."

"Do you know that for a fact?” Theo asked. “Nevertheless, my satisfaction lies in the knowledge my wife won't get her hands on the money. My will stipulates I bequeath the balance of my holdings to my wife. When she finds out there are no holdings left, my revenge will be complete. All that spending will come back and bite her in her greedy Gucci pocketbook."

A crooked smile formed on Theo's lips before he broke into a broad grin. “I think I'll compose a letter telling her I've hidden the money in one of my law books. I'm gambling she got rid of them. She hated that library. We had many a squabble over the hours I spent in there."

"That's downright mean,” Sadie said.

"It is, isn't it? Let them pine over the missing money.” Patting his briefcase he said, “These gems are going with me."

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Carl and Paul leaned against the hood of the patrol car. Waves of heat emanated from the vehicle, adding to the discomfort of the humid summer afternoon. Carl pointed at the marker indicating the resort's boundary line and fanned his arm the entire length of the beachfront. “Then starting right there, the next hundred feet of shoreline belongs to the mortuary. When Judge Kimmer rules in my favor, I'll own that, too.” Carl rubbed his hands together. “It can't happen soon enough for me."

A green Buick slowed to a stop. The driver leaned out and asked for directions to the lodge. “Make a right at the next driveway. You can't miss it. Enjoy your stay, it's a great place,” Carl said.

Paul elbowed Carl. “Now that's good marketing. A thumbs-up from a man in uniform should bring them back next summer."

"You know that book you told me about? I bought it last week. I can sum it up in two words."

"Two?” Paul asked. “That's all you got out of it was two words?"

"Kiss butt. Customer service means kissing your customers’ butts and doing it with a smile."

"I suppose you could look at it that way. Your customer is your meal ticket. Don't ever forget that. The resort business is a service industry and your customers expect to be waited on."

"Bull,” Carl spat. “My staff is going to do the butt-kissing. I'm going to sit behind that big oak desk and give orders."

A truck towing a boat trailer edged its way to the far side of the parking lot before backing down the access ramp. The passenger got out and gestured directions to the driver. As Carl approached the truck, the driver shouted, “Are they bitin'?"

The passenger tugged on the boat to loosen it from the trailer. He guided the boat toward the dock.

Carl reached out and flagged his hand, indicating he wanted the man to throw him the rope. He pulled the boat to the dock and secured the rope.

"I saw some big fillets coming out of the cleaning shack,” Carl said. “Some of the biggest I've seen this summer."

"Hot damn. We drove all the way up from Minneapolis. Them babies better be hoppin’ in the boat."

Carl pointed to one of the two large, red tackle boxes sitting on the boat's floor. “With that gear, you won't have any problem."

"We're not coming in till we catch our limit,” the man shouted over the roar of the motor. He fastened his life jacket, pushed the lever forward and glided past a row of yellow boundary floats.

"Good luck,” Paul shouted, joining Carl at the end of the dock.

Paul pointed at the sign over the marina. “The first thing you need to do is get rid of that sign."

"Why? I like it."

"'EAT, GET GAS AND WORMS’ isn't exactly a great endorsement. I'm surprised anyone dares stop."

"It's a landmark. It's been there since I can remember,” Carl said.

"Who do you want to cater to, the pro fisherman or the rednecks?"

"It doesn't matter as long as they've got money. Speaking of money, I need a business manager like your partner. Too bad he kicked the bucket."

"I still can't believe he's gone,” Paul said. “Have you heard any more on the investigation?"

"Nah. I'm guessing Lon dropped it. He must have realized he'd be a bigger ass than he already is if anyone got wind of his suspicions."

"Let me know if you hear any more,” Paul said.

"Quit worrying. Lon's a dufus. Besides, I've got more important things on my mind. I need to plan the eviction. I want to evict the Witt sisters the day I win the lawsuit."

Paul grabbed Carl's arm, his eyes brimming with annoyance. “Haven't you listened to anything I've said? If you evict them right before the election, you won't stand a chance. People respect the Witt sisters. You need to wait until after you've been declared the winner."

"Paul,” Carl whined, “you're ruining my day."

"If you don't start using common sense, you'll lose everything.” Paul threw his hands up in the air. “You're hopeless."

The two men turned to walk back to shore. Carl tripped over a red tackle box and fell to his knees. Tackle rattled as the case tipped sideways and skittered to the edge of the dock. Paul scrambled to keep the box from falling into the lake.

"What the hell?” Carl looked out into the bay. “Isn't that one of the tackle boxes they had in their boat?” Carl scanned the horizon for the boat.

"That's what I wondered,” Paul said. “How'd it get here? Maybe I should get one of the dock boys to take it out to them?"

"Nah,” Carl said. “If they're that dumb, that's their problem. Besides, as soon as they realize it's missing, they'll come looking for it. We'll leave it on the dock."

A deer bounded out of the woods and skidded on the tarred access ramp. Startled by the figures on the dock, the doe tried to regain her footing while simultaneously spinning back toward the trees. Pushing off with her hind legs, she hurtled twice and disappeared back into the underbrush. The thick growth parted and swayed as the deer vanished.

"Holy balls. Where did that come from?"

"I think the deer flies are driving them crazy,” Paul said. “They dart everywhere trying to get away from the flies. I'm guessing one bolted out in front of the Fossums’ car."

Carl scanned the underbrush. “Did you ever get Richard's briefcase from his sister?"

"Not yet. She left town to take care of her father. When she gets back, she'll let me in so I can load up the stuff he had in his home office."

A rustle of leaves drew their attention back to the woods. A deer hesitated before bounding through an opening and running across the parking lot into the woods on the north side of the resort.

"That reminds me,” Carl said, faking a shot at the fleeing animal. “I need to borrow your rifle again. I'm competing in a tournament next week. I have better luck with your rifle than I do with mine. With your scope and my dead aim, it's a given I'll walk away with first place."

"I lost it,” Paul said.

"Lost it? How could you lose something like that?” Carl removed his cap and scratched the top of his scalp with his little finger. Paul had probably spent more on that scope than he had earned last month. Heat welled up around Carl's neck. It was an angry heat triggered by Paul's blase attitude toward his possessions.

"I took it out to the woods to adjust the scope. It must have shook loose and fell off my four-wheeler when I drove home."

"Did you look for it?"

"No, Carl,” Paul said. “That scope set me back three-thousand bucks. Why would I look for it? I thought I'd just leave it there until the next time I needed it."

"How am I going to win the tournament without your rifle? That was one fine piece of hardware.” Carl kicked at a dock board in disappointment. “I'd use my own, but the rifles the sheriff gives us are crap. You had your scope aligned so perfectly, I could shoot blindfolded."

Two colorful rafts, toting coolers, floated past the dock. Paul waved at the occupants as they slid off and carried the coolers up the access ramp.

"If you were smart, Carl, you'd capitalize on that access ramp to make extra money."

"What do you mean?” Carl set the red tackle box on the end of the dock.

"Most people think that's a public access. But it's not. That access is on the Witt sisters’ property. They've been letting people use it for years. If I were you, I'd charge per boat to access the lake. In the winter, I'd charge five bucks per vehicle during ice fishing season."

"Why didn't I think of that?” Carl said. “Got any more ideas?"

"Maybe. But they come with a price."

Carl watched Aanders head toward Sadie's cabin, playing a video game as he walked. When Aanders noticed them, he quickly averted his gaze back to his video game.

"Isn't that Nan's kid?” Carl asked. “Who's he talking to?"

"You got me. Must be the game,” Paul said. “Did you notice how scared he looked? It's almost like he wanted to take off running."

"Give him a break. He just lost his friend. Tell me more about your ideas."

"The reason you didn't think about the access fee is because you haven't challenged your brain. You might have potential, but you don't know how to use it.” Paul tapped his temple. “It's all about manipulation."

"You mean like how you're going to buy the mortuary and trick Nan into marrying you?"

"Something like that."

Paul pointed toward a cluster of children standing around an ice cream cart. The two men sauntered over to the cart. Paul stooped to look into the case. He gestured toward the chocolate tub and pulled a ten from his wallet. Carl waited for his cone before catching up to Paul. “Well?"

"Like I said, it'll cost you. Genius isn't cheap."

"Bull,” Carl uttered. He wiped at the cone with his tongue.

"I could find another location for the mortuary. It isn't set in stone that I have to buy the existing building."

"You backing out on me?” Carl's nostrils flared as his voice rose. Red splotches edged up his neck and onto his cheeks.

Paul grimaced and looked around. “If I were you, I'd keep my voice down. You'll never keep employees if you react like that. You'll scare them away."

Carl slid his mouth around the cone to catch the drips. “Well golly gee, mister businessman, I disagree. I have no intention of changing my ways."

Paul and Carl watched a young woman in a bikini cross in front of them and walk toward the beach. Carl pursed his lips. “Oh baby. Come to papa. To think they'll be parading in front of me all summer is better than a wet dream. I'll be so busy entertaining I'll have to sleep all day to recuperate."

"You talk big, but your wife would chop you into bait and feed you to the fish."

"She'll never know.” Carl pulled a tablet from his back pocket. “I need to add bikini babes to my list of things for the judge. He's coming for dinner tomorrow night. I try to sweeten the pot every time I talk to him."

Carl jabbed Paul with his elbow. “Look who's coming."

Mr. Bakke met the two men on the walkway and nodded as he continued. He shifted a bag of groceries from one arm to the other.

Carl shot his fist in the air. “Yes. How perfect is that?” He turned to watch Mr. Bakke step up onto Sadie's porch. “I hoped one of them would see me. He'll run in and tell them I'm here. That made the drive out here worth it. I'd do anything to aggravate Sadie."

Paul stopped at the edge of the resort property and gazed at the mortuary. “It's a shame to waste shoreline on a mortuary. That hundred feet of beach front could generate a lot of income if you didn't sell it."

Carl scanned the shoreline. “So you're saying if you don't buy the land and building I should do something with it?"

Paul tapped his temple. “Think, man. That building could be used for lodging or it could be rented out to corporations for meetings.” Paul tapped his temple again. “If you don't start thinking like an entrepreneur, you'll never succeed."

"I'll think about it,” Carl said as he walked toward the patrol car. “My problem is cash. I was counting on cash from the sale of the mortuary land to pay my bills. If I don't sell it, I'll have to come up with the money. You know I don't have money.” He grinned across the top of the car. “Not that my wife knows about."

The two men opened their doors. Suddenly, Carl let out a yell. “What the...?"

The contents of a red tackle box were strewn over the car's interior. Most of the barbed hooks were deeply embedded in the car's upholstery and fishing line had been entwined throughout the interior forming an impenetrable web. Carl's clipboard dangled from the rearview mirror. Each numbered citation had ‘PIG’ written across it in bold, black letters. Mermaid lures hung from the ceiling with dried-up minnows on the tips of the barbs.

"That witch,” Carl shouted.

"Who?"

"Sadie. She did this,” Carl yelled.

The Witt's End van pulled into the parking lot, stopping next to the patrol car. One of the resort's guests climbed out of the van. “Thanks for taking us into town, Sadie. We got some great pictures to show the folks back home. I'll bring them over as soon as I get them developed."

Sadie followed the woman out of the van. Theo, Lora, and Michael trailed close behind.

Carl grabbed Sadie's arm. “Were you in town all afternoon?"

She slapped at his hand and pulled free. “Yes, I was. What business is it of yours?"

"Do you have any witnesses?"

"For what?"

"To vouch you were in town all afternoon."

Sadie looked up at Theo, who stood next to her with a big smile on his face. “What are you grinning for?"

"Grinning? I'm not grinning. Do I look like I'm having fun?” Carl's voice rose with each word as he glared at Sadie.

Theo gestured toward Carl's patrol car. “You better take a peek in there."

Sadie raised up on her toes and looked in the window. She let out a hoot. “Did you leave your car unlocked?"

"No, Sadie. I always drive a car that looks like a tackle box."

"That's really stupid.” Sadie reached in and pulled on a tightly wound portion of fishing line. The line twanged like a guitar string setting several lures into motion. “Those minnows stink."