The Lost Women of Lost Lake (4 page)

Checking over his shoulder, he saw a black Toyota Camry approaching. He hated Toyotas on principle. There were so many of them on the roads that they were like ants—boring and annoying. Why didn't people look around, try for something a little more unusual? It was just like that song—little boxes, different colors but all the same. Pete Seeger sang it. Jonah liked Rise Against's recording better. Still, it was the words that counted. He wasn't going to live his life that way. He intended to put more thought into his decisions and not spend his life following the masses, drinking the same bullshit Kool-Aid everybody else did.

As the Toyota slowed to a stop, the passenger's window rolled down and the man inside called, “Looking for a ride?”

“Yeah,” said Jonah, resting his hand against the roof.

“I'm headed up to Empire.”

“Perfect. If you could let me out at Larson Lake Road—do you know where that is?”

“Sure do. Get in.”

Jonah slid into the front seat and tucked his duffle between his legs.

“Looks like we're in for a storm,” said the man, nodding to the dark wall of clouds approaching from the southwest.

Before Jonah could respond, the window next to him rolled back up. Removing his earbuds, he glanced over to size the guy up. He was middle-aged, hair combed straight back over a high forehead, kind of shabby looking, although he had on a bunch of gold jewelry. Under his sport coat was a brace of some kind. Jonah wondered if he had an injured arm or shoulder. After riding with some strange people in his time, Jonah liked to think he could read people well. Generally, he got along with everyone. He preferred to sit quietly and look at the scenery. This guy, however, seemed to want to talk.

“You from around here?” asked the man.

“I grew up in Lost Lake.”

“Oh, sure. Beautiful spot. I stayed at Thunderhook Lodge once.”

“My aunts own it.”

“No kidding. So you're headed home then.”

“Sort of. My parents moved to St. Louis last year.”

“I don't like big cities.”

“Me neither.”

Rain drops began to splat against the windshield.

“Name's Otto Lindeman.”

“Jonah.”

“That a first or a last name?”

“First.”

“I guess we don't need your last name right away.”

Odd comment. Jonah's weirdo antenna cranked up.

Otto glanced over, his eyes traveling from Jonah's face to the bag at his feet.

For some reason, this brief but oddly thorough examination made Jonah feel even more uneasy. He turned away and gazed out the passenger's window, hoping to shut the conversation down.

“You got any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope.”

“An only child. Same with me. I always wanted a little brother. You know, someone to look up to me.”

Jonah nodded, keeping his eyes on the side of the road.

“I'm a salesman,” said Otto. “Insurance. I like it because nobody checks up on me. If I don't work, I don't make any money. Simple as that.”

“Huh.”

“You headed to college?”

“After I graduate high school.”

“You're still in high school? You look older.”

The hairs on the back of Jonah's neck start to prickle.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

That seemed to piss the guy off. “Not much of a talker, are you.”

“Nope, not much.”

He began taking the bends in the road at increasingly higher speeds.

Your luck just ended, thought Jonah. This guy's a certified freak.

“I like speed,” said Otto. “How about you?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You like to live on the edge.”

It wasn't a question, so Jonah didn't answer. Instead, he glanced over and saw that what'd he'd first thought was a brace was a friggin' shoulder holster.

Otto saw him looking and smiled. “Like guns?”

“Not really.”

“No? This one's a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson.” He drew it out and held it up with his index finger pressed along the side. “Pretty, isn't it?”

“Beautiful.”

Otto set the gun on his right thigh and kept his hand over it as he slowed the car back to the speed limit. “Wouldn't want the cops stopping us.”

For the next few minutes, they drove without talking. Jonah kept stealing glances at the gun, at the slender, hairless hand covering it, yet never once looked at Otto's face. Instinctively, he knew that if he did, it would seem challenging. He'd fight him if he had to, but there might be a way out of the car without getting himself killed. Didn't his mother always say that he could talk his way out of anything?

When he couldn't stand it another minute, Jonah said, “What are you going to do with that gun?” He worked to keep the fear out of his voice. Showing weakness was always the wrong tactic with another guy.

“Don't know. Got any ideas?”

“You could stop the car and let me out.”

Otto sniggered. “That's no fun. Thought you needed a ride up to Lost Lake.”

“I'm not in a hurry.”

Otto glanced over at him. “Neither am I.”

When they reached the south end of Pokegama Lake, Otto said, “I don't like you.” He was driving so slowly now that a car passed them on the long open bridge.

Just beyond an old restaurant, Otto pulled off the highway into a patch of weeds and killed the engine. With the windshield wipers stopped mid-swing, the car was instantly engulfed in pelting rain. It felt like being inside a car wash.

“Get your hand away from the door handle,” ordered Otto.

Jonah pulled his hand back, repulsed by the man's rancid breath. The interior became sauna-oppressive, rank with nervous sweat, the quiet punctuated by the sounds of rain, the rumble of thunder and the distant flash of lightning.

“I'm in control,” said Otto, picking up the pistol, pulling the slide back and letting it pop forward. “You do what I tell you. Got it?”

“I got it,” said Jonah, sweat trickling down his back.

Otto's finger curled around the trigger. “I don't like know-it-alls, snotty kids, people who think they're better than me.”

Jonah held his breath.

“Say something.”

“I don't think I'm better than you. Hell, you've got a great car, nice clothes, a good job. I don't have any of that.”

“You really think so?”

“Sure. Look, I didn't mean any disrespect. Honest.”

“You should cut your hair. It's too long. Makes you look like a girl.”

“Good advice.”

“You're not a homo, are you?”

“No.”

“You got a girlfriend?”

Jonah wasn't sure what the best answer was. “Yeah.”

“You love her?”

“A lot.”

“You're not sleeping with her, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You keep your lousy mitts off her until you get married, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

Otto's face twitched. “You're lying. All you think about is sex. Sex, sex, sex.”

“I—”

“Don't lie to me.”

“Okay, yeah. I think about it.”

“All the time. Every waking minute. You've got a filthy, dirty mind.”

“Well—”

“You're just like every, other kid. You can't get enough. Your thoughts are rotting your brain and you don't even see it. You're a disgusting pervert, Jonah. I can smell it on you.”

Jonah sat very still, eyes down. There was no point in arguing with a lunatic.

“You're thinking about sex right now, aren't you. Admit it.”

“Actually, I'm not.”

“Sex is a curse. It taints everything. God's biggest mistake. You agree?”

“One hundred percent.”

Otto examined his pistol, then sat and watched the rain beat against the windshield. “A curse,” he repeated, his left index finger tapping a rhythm against the steering wheel. “It kills us all in the end. Original sin. Every one of us, born in lust. Makes me sick to my stomach.”

A semi roared past, hurtling a thick gush of water against the side of the car. Jonah glanced down and saw a
Penthouse
magazine stuffed halfway under the driver's seat.

“What to do,” said Otto, still tapping his finger. “You're scared. I like that. You should be scared.” He pointed the pistol at Jonah's stomach. “Think it's time for you to get out.”

“And then what?”

“You ask too many questions.”

With his eyes still on the gun, Jonah cracked the door, pushed it all the way open with his boot, and then grabbed his duffle and jumped out. The wind and rain engulfed him. Bolting for the woods, he heard the car engine catch and rev behind him. Overhead, the wind pounded the trees as lightning split the sky. When he reached the safety of a low hanging pine, he turned and screamed, “Freak! You're a friggin' freako!” Wiping the rain out of his eyes, he tried to catch the license plate, but it was no use. The car had sped off into the storm.

5

By the time Jane, Cordelia, and Jill made it to the cottage that night, the storm clouds had passed over the lake and been replaced by the dying rays of a deep violet sunset. Jane was amused at Cordelia's paranoia about the weather—or perhaps she was just an always prepared Girl Scout. Cordelia brought along a green and black golf umbrella, which she used like a cane as they strolled along the paved path that led past the tennis and shuffleboard courts. After the rain, the air was sharp with the resinous smell of pine. A few branches were down here and there, and some of the outdoor chairs were tipped over, but in general, Thunderhook had made it through with little damage.

“I need to warn you about something,” said Jill, adjusting the cotton sweater she'd tied around her shoulders. “Tessa's been in a bad place since the accident. You both know she's never been a particularly sunny personality, but this seems different to me. I assume it's because she hates her invalid status. Neither of us are getting any younger. She must see it as a taste of the future.”

“We didn't come to bathe in her sunshine and light,” said Cordelia. “We came because we love you two, and we wanted to help.”

“How did she happen to fall?” asked Jane.

Staring into the distance, Jill said, “She came home from rehearsals last Thursday night and proceeded to get drunk.”

“Tessa?” said Jane.

“I don't get it either. Something must have triggered it. When I asked her about it, she just brushed it off by saying it was stress over the show, that I was making something out of nothing.”

“Were the rehearsals going badly?” asked Cordelia.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, no worries,” said Cordelia. “I'll take over starting tomorrow night.”

“And I thought I could make some of the meals,” said Jane. “Take a little pressure off you.”

“You two are the best.”

“We are indeed,” said Cordelia, never one to willingly choose humility in the face of a compliment.

*   *   *

Jane smelled the roast in the oven even before they walked in the side door. Tessa was seated like a dowager queen on the center of a large leather sofa, pillows stuffed around her, her leg propped up on a footstool.

“Welcome to the land of the broken and the needy,” she called, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers.

While Jill stayed in the kitchen to check on dinner, Jane and Cordelia gave Tessa a hug and a kiss and then sat down across from her. Cordelia let out a tired groan as she leaned back against the chair cushion.

“Did you
walk
from the Cities?” asked Tessa, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Funny,” said Cordelia, stretching her arms. She'd changed out of her leopardskin dress into a pair of black jeans and a red cotton sweater.

Jane had almost forgotten how beautiful the cottage was.

In nineteen ninety-four, perhaps feeling the same architectural urge as her great-grandfather, though on a much smaller scale, Jill had designed and headed up the contracting. Jutting out like the prow of a ship, the house was built in the shape of a T. At the end of each arm were bedrooms, one of which Tessa had made into a study. Across from the bedrooms were the two bathrooms. The floor plan was compact, a little more than a thousand square feet, although the addition of a wraparound deck nearly doubled the usable space. With the living room at the front, a two-story wall of windows facing the lake, a dining room in the center, the kitchen running along the back wall, and a vaulted ceiling open to a second floor loft, the cottage seemed cozy and yet spacious—the stuff of a city dweller's dreams.

“So, how's the ankle?” asked Jane, motioning to the foot swaddled in ice packs.

“The whole thing is completely ridiculous. I lost my balance on the deck stairs.”

“Is it painful?” asked Cordelia.

“Like twelve root canals. And it's swollen like a watermelon, although it's gone down a little. Tomorrow I get the air splint and a walking boot. I'm supposed to let the pain guide me in how much and how fast I get back to walking.”

Which means, thought Jane, that she'd be up and around by next Christmas.

“This is absolutely wretched timing.”

“Because of the stage piece you're directing,” said Jane.

Tessa's gaze drifted out the front windows. “Right.”

“A true bummer,” said Cordelia. “Although, I suppose there's never a really great time to tear ligaments in your ankle.”

Jane thought Tessa looked restless, even a little jittery. Her hair was shorter than it had been the last time Jane had seen her, a spiky platinum instead of the dark blond pageboy she'd worn for so many years. She was an attractive woman, with beautiful aqua eyes, long lashes, and a smile that could melt ice—when she chose to bestow it, which wasn't often.