Beth Solheim: At Witt's End

"That's the trouble with you, Lon. You're such a pussy you've lost the ability to think on your feet.” Carl leaned forward and grabbed his mug. “That's why I'm going to be sheriff and you're not."

"I don't want to be sheriff."

Surprised at the anger in Lon's voice, Carl said, “Nobody's going to miss a few renegades from time to time. I know enough to cooperate with the tribal council. I'll even help them locate their missing brethren."

"What makes you think they're the only ones who commit crimes around here?” Lon demanded. “Seems to me a few of your cousins were arrested last year."

"So?"

"If you look at the statistics, more crimes were committed by our locals than by the Indians."

"Then I'll just have to deal with the jack pine savages, too, won't I?"

"I guess,” Lon said. “It seems to me you're seeking revenge on the whole tribe because of an indiscretion on your wife's part. You'd be better off cleaning up your own backyard first."

Carl was sick of Lon's blase attitude. Nothing ruffled him. Yet he knew under that calm facade, Lon's brain churned nonstop. “Give me some credit. I intend to deal with all the crime. My plan will get press in the local paper. That'll make me look good. If everything goes the way I expect, there won't be a criminal left in Pinecone Landing.” Carl nudged Paul. “I like the sound of that. Don't you?"

"Don't count on me to back your election,” Lon said as he stood.

Carl grinned at Paul. “I think Lon's a little confused.” Carl's grin soured as he directed his gaze toward Lon. “You and I both know you're going to be my strongest advocate. Not only are you going to support me, but you're going to head up my campaign."

Carl ignored the hateful look Lon shot in his direction. “I seem to remember an incident where you got carried away during an arrest.” Faking curiosity, Carl said, “You do remember that, don't you? If I recall correctly, the Tribal Council had a difficult time believing your explanation."

Lon glared at Carl.

"Good. I see you haven't forgotten.” Carl curled his fingers over his palm to examine his nails. He pulled a nail clipper from his desk drawer. “It goes without saying I expect results. If I get them, your past mistakes will remain safe with me."

"There's not one person in town who'd vote for you,” Lon said.

"Two things will guarantee my victory. Your stumping efforts during my campaign and finalizing a piece of unfinished business right before the election. That'll be the clincher. Gaining ownership of that resort will be a major attention grabber and my name will be splashed all over the newspaper. Who do you think our fine citizens will vote for then?"

Carl dropped the nail clipper into the drawer. “They'll vote for the name they see most often. That's a proven fact. Why do you think politicians make themselves visible right before Election Day?"

"Because they can't win on their own merit?” Lon said. “I don't see why you're so determined to get control of that resort. I'm tired of your vendetta against the Witt sisters. You're obsessed."

As Carl groaned in disagreement, Lon added, “Those two old ladies wouldn't harm a bee if it stung them. Sadie may be a bit strange, but those sisters keep a whole lot of people employed year round. I think that's more important than your lawsuit."

"I don't care what you think. Sadie's mother got that property from my grandfather through illegal means. Granddad had a weak spot. He couldn't stand up to her mother's sexual advances.” Slamming his hand against his desk, he said, “Mark my words. I'm going to make my grandfather proud. I'm going to get that property back."

As Lon walked through the door, he turned and looked at the dispatcher. “I'm on my way up north to pick up that perp.” He nodded to the men at the desk. “Later, Carl. You, too, Slick."

"It irritates me when he calls me that,” Paul said. He stared at Lon's back. “Lon hates me. He'd do anything to aggravate me."

"Hates you? What are you talking about?"

"He's got the hots for Nan. Ever since I started dating her, Lon's been giving me the cold shoulder."

"Quit whining. He's been interested in her for years. He was the first one who approached her after she divorced his no-good cousin."

"I hate the way he looks at her. He's waiting for me to make a wrong move."

"You're crazy. He calls you Slick because you dress like you live in New York City.” Carl's gaze ran the length of Paul's body. “You probably spent more on those pants then I earned last week. No wonder they call you Slick. I thought women were the ones who had closets jammed with clothes."

When Carl and Paul were in their early twenties, the two had been a formidable pair. Both men stood six feet tall. Between the two of them they possessed the attributes necessary to rank them high on the list of eligible bachelors. Paul had the money and the looks. Carl had the muscles and the swagger. Together they had been unstoppable and enjoyed a longstanding position at the top of the testosterone heap.

Paul fared well through time, but not Carl. His looks had curdled like cream. Over the years Carl had sprouted a protruding stomach, one that caused him continuous embarrassment. Women no longer found him desirable. Due to his wife's constant belittling and indiscretions, his confidence had eroded. He accepted his fate. Not because he wanted to, but because his wife would kill him if she found out he'd been with another woman.

Paul poured a mug of fresh coffee and looked out the window. Watching Lon slide into his squad car, Paul said, “Do you think he'll help with your campaign?"

Carl removed his cap and wiped his brow. “The way I see it, he doesn't have a choice. When he was accused of roughing up that perp last summer, I told the Tribal Council the perp had been in an altercation before he was arrested. They wanted to pursue it, but because Fading Sun's such a loser, they finally dropped it."

"I'm surprised the perp's wife didn't pursue it,” Paul said. Staring at Carl with intense green eyes, Paul ran his hand over his hair before patting it into place. “You're not listening to me. I said I'm surprised his wife didn't pursue it. Mrs. Fading Sun usually doesn't put up with prejudice against her husband. She's one of those diversity crusaders."

"What gets me,” Carl said, “is why a white woman with a good education would marry him in the first place."

Paul tipped his head toward his right shoulder, “At least the woman was smart enough to buy an insurance policy on her husband. Her payments are always on time. I can't ask for more than that."

"Yeah. I suppose,” Carl grumbled. “That's all you think about is your insurance business."

"It's not just insurance. It's investments, too. And why wouldn't I think about it? I need to make a living, don't I?” Paul looked at Carl out of the corner of his eye. “Did Lon really rough up Fading Sun when the two of you arrested him?"

"That's none of your business,” Carl said. “All that matters is that the investigation was dropped."

"I'm not hungry, Mom,” Aanders said, pushing the plate with the uneaten chicken aside. Rotating the base of his milk glass against the counter top, he watched the white liquid swirl until it became motionless.

"Don't worry about it.” Nan picked up her son's plate.” I'll put it in the fridge. You might want it later.” The ringing of the phone cut across her words.

Aanders crossed to the counter as the phone rang for the second time. “Harren Funeral Home."

The two-bedroom mortuary apartment made a shoebox look large, but Aanders had grown to love it. They had moved into the apartment after Nan 's divorce. His mother installed a second phone line in the apartment to handle business calls after countless attempts at running from the apartment to the office had failed. Aanders knew his mother wanted to house hunt, but she told him the convenience of being on-site to run the business as well as the luxury of not having house payments was too good to pass up. Thoughts of relocation had been placed on hold.