Лори Касс - Lending А Paw

“At the beginning.” I led her to Alonzo Tillotson’s bench, looking around with mild trepidation. One Eddie was wonderful, but if there were two, and if they met, the universe would surely explode. Or I would.

We settled down and sat in comfortable silence watching the waters of Janay Lake. Boats went this way and that. The wind blew a light breeze. The sun was on our faces.

My eyes were starting to close for a little nap when Aunt Frances started her story.

“It was a family feud,” she said, sighing. “A very private, very old feud inside Stan’s family, and Stan had made me promise not to say anything to anyone about it.”

“That’s not a beginning,” I said. “That’s more like an explanation.”

“I suppose.” She watched a seagull soaring past, her eyes slits against the sharp sun. “Stan stayed with me the winter before you moved up north.”

I made a squeak of surprise, but managed to keep my mouth shut.

Aunt Frances was still focused on the seagull. “He hated hotels. Hated them with a serious kind of hate. He stayed with me while that house of his up on the hill was being renovated. He moved out of my place and into his just a few weeks before you moved up.” She shifted her gaze from sky to me. “He had the corner room near the stairway,” she said. “Just to be clear about things.”

“Crystal,” I said.

“Good.” She looked at me a moment longer, then returned to the lake view. “As far as I know, no one realized that Stan stayed with me that winter. He didn’t want his relatives knowing he was in town and I was willing to keep his confidence.”

At that time of year it would have been easy enough to keep his presence a secret. The houses surrounding the boardinghouse were all summer cottages. The closest year-round residence was almost a quarter mile away, and that was occupied by a couple who worked in Traverse City and were willing to drive the hour-long commute, one way. As long as Stan had a vehicle no one recognized, he could have driven out to the old highway, headed up to U.S. 31, and blended with the traffic before anyone paid any attention.

“The only thing,” Aunt Frances said, “is I’m good friends with one of Stan’s nieces. Gwen’s the daughter of his oldest sister and isn’t much younger than Stan.” She went quiet. Stayed quiet.

“That’s not the end of the story, right?” I asked.

She watched another seagull wing past. “No. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I connected Stan and Gwen. He never talked about his family and she didn’t mention that Stan was her uncle until he donated the money to the bookmobile. That’s when . . .”

“When . . . ?”

“I decided to play master of other people’s lives.” Her voice was harsh. “I talked to Stan, over and over, on the phone, at the Round Table, at his house, trying to convince him to call his sisters. Tried to convince Gwen to see Stan. All in the name of trying to make people happy.”

She shoved at her hair, trying to push it into a place out of the wind. “It’s not enough that I think I can help people find their true loves. Oh, no. I have to try to end a family feud that has been going on for decades. And look what happened. So stupid.” Creases appeared around her lips.

My mind made a small, frightened leap. “You think you’re responsible for Stan’s death?”

“I don’t know what to think.” The creases went deeper. “The feud . . . I don’t even know what it was about.” She made an impatient gesture. “Something stupid. Feuds always are. But what if old hurts were opened up because I tried? What if my attempts at reconciliation brought it all back? What if . . . ?”

Her strong voice wavered. Quavered. Fell apart into a choking sob. “What if it’s my fault?”

I wanted to say, That’s nuts, of course it’s not your fault. You didn’t have anything to do with Stan’s death and it’s ridiculous to think so.

But I didn’t know what was true anymore. So I took her hand. Held it tight between mine.

And didn’t let go.

• • •

Eddie and I sat on the houseboat’s front deck that night, watching the sun go down and the stars come out. At least I was watching the sun and the stars. Eddie was alternating between being a motionless cat statue and chasing the tip of his tail as if his life depended on it.

I’d turned off all the lights in the cabin to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and a sense of invisibility had enveloped me. No one could see me, and since I was lying quietly on the chaise lounge, no one could hear me. But I could hear them.

A few boats down, a new couple was welcoming friends to their boat. Wine corks and beer cans were popping open, toasts were being toasted, and a wild happiness was emanating from all.

Closer, a woman with small children was trying to convince her youngsters that, yes, it was bedtime, that just because they were still awake didn’t mean it wasn’t time for sleepy eyes and if they wanted to go to the beach tomorrow, they’d better get into bed right now, and don’t make me count to three. One, two . . .

Next door, Louisa and Ted were putting away the dinner dishes they’d just washed. Silverware rattled and plates tinked as they chatted in voices too low for me to hear. Not that I was trying to hear, of course. Eavesdropping was a nasty habit and those who indulged in it often heard things they didn’t want to hear. Take the time when I was five and had listened in on my older brother and his girlfriend when they—

“He got what he deserved,” Gunnar Olson said.

Eddie, whom I saw in silhouette against the lights of the dock, perked up his ears and turned his head to look at our other immediate neighbor, the one whose mere presence allowed me a discount rate on my boat slip. When I’d seen his lights on earlier that night, I’d wondered what he was doing up here a full two weeks before the Fourth of July, but had hoped I wouldn’t have to find out.

With Gunnar going full force, my quiet evening was done. I should go in, anyway. There were bills to pay and Eddie hair to vacuum. I swung my feet to the deck and started to stand when Gunnar’s voice boomed out through his open cabin windows. “Larabee lived about twenty years too long, if you ask me.”

Then again, listening in to someone else’s conversation could hardly be considered eavesdropping if you were sitting on your own boat enjoying the evening. I sat back down.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Gunnar said to the person on the other end of the phone. “You know, I was up here when he died.”

I bolted to my feet. I knew it! I knew I’d seen lights on his boat that night.

Eddie padded across the deck and wound around my ankles. “Mrr,” he said.

I put my finger to my lips and waved at him to keep quiet.

“Mrr.”

Why, why is it that cats only seem to understand English when it’s to their own benefit? I knelt on the deck and pulled Eddie to me. He allowed the snuggle for a second and a half, then slithered out of my grasp.

“Flew the Cessna up,” Gunnar said. “I got the itch to play a little blackjack. Good thing the cops don’t know I was in town. They’d slap me on the suspect list in a flash, with my history.” He chuckled. “The wife? Nah, she doesn’t know I came up that weekend. She thought I was in Chicago on business. . . . Sure, I told her I’d quit gambling, but this was the first time since Christmas and I won a couple hundred bucks, so it doesn’t count. Besides, she’ll never know. I didn’t get the car out of storage until today. When I was up before, I hired some local to drive me around for next to nothing.”

Which explained why there’d been no vehicle in their reserved parking spot.