William Krueger - Northwest Angle

“If they’re watching for us to cross the big water,” Kretsch said, “they’ll be figuring for you to do it, Seth.”

“If the wind gets bad out there, that little toothpick you call a boat could be in for a rough ride.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kretsch said.

Jenny was very glad that he sounded absolutely certain.

“Aaron, Stephen, you guys all set?”

“I’d still rather stay here,” Stephen said. “I want to help you track down Smalldog.”

“I understand,” Cork said, and he did. “But, Stephen, I need you at Henry Meloux’s to make sure Jenny and the baby are safe there. And you and Henry, well, everybody knows how special you are to him. He won’t say no if you’re there.”

“He wouldn’t say no anyway,” Stephen countered. “If he did, he wouldn’t be Henry.”

“I’ll feel better about sending the baby if I know you’re helping at the other end, okay?” Cork said.

Which was the truth, but not the whole truth. If things got bad on the Angle, Cork wanted as many of his children as possible out of harm’s way. For Mal’s plan to work, Anne had to stay on Oak Island. Stephen didn’t.

“Don’t forget,” Aaron threw in helpfully. “I’ve never piloted a boat, Stephen. I need you to get us safely back to the mainland.”

Stephen seemed to see the wisdom of that and, although not necessarily happy with it, nodded his agreement.

They shook hands around and the family hugged and bid one another Godspeed and then it was time. Bascombe headed out first, Kretsch next, and finally Aaron and Stephen. Mal and Anne brought up the rear. Mal carried a rifle. Anne carried the basket, inside of which was a rolled-up bath towel swaddled in a blanket. While Mal helped the others cast off, Anne sat down on the bench with her back to the water, lifted the rolled-up towel in its blanket, and held it to her chest in what, from a distance, would certainly appear to be a loving embrace. Aaron and Stephen pulled away in the rental, motored out a short distance, and waited. Kretsch joined them, easing his little Lund Tyee alongside. Bascombe swung away last. As he came abreast of the other two crafts, they all throttled forward, headed into the channel, and curled north.

From inside the cabin, Cork watched until they’d rounded a point of land three-quarters of a mile northwest and disappeared. He knew that as soon as they were out of sight they would split up. Bascombe would head toward Windigo Island. Aaron and Stephen would head toward Young’s Bay Landing on the mainland. And Kretsch would follow a circuitous route that would, eventually, bring him to the other side of Oak Island, where Jenny and the baby and Cork would be waiting.

It was Mal’s three-card monte—which was the important boat?—but with a twist: Jenny and the baby still appeared to be on the dock.

Cork turned from the window to Jenny, who stood holding the baby. Rose was next to her, and on the floor at their feet sat the ice chest, which Bascombe had stuffed with bedding. “It’s time,” he said. He saw the apprehension in his daughter’s eyes, and he smiled and said, “Everything’s going to be fine, Jenny.”

She nodded, meaning that she’d heard him and, perhaps, meaning to convey as well that she believed him. But her eyes told a different story.

“Let’s get our little guy settled in,” Rose suggested.

Jenny laid the child in the soft bedding of the ice chest and covered him with a light blanket. He was awake and stared up at her as she leaned over him. Cork was relieved to see that he didn’t seem upset at all with his new carrier. He simply studied Jenny’s face with what seemed to be utter fascination.

Cork took up the rifle Bascombe had left for him, then he hefted a pack filled with clean diapers, a canister of formula, and other items for the baby. “This way,” he said.

He took them through the kitchen to the rear door of the lodge, which opened onto a small grassy apron between the log structure and the woods that backed the old resort. Hidden from the lake by the body of the lodge, they quickly crossed the grass and stepped onto a path that cut into the woods. Cork led the way, with Jenny in the middle and Rose bringing up the rear. Bascombe had given them a map of the island that showed the walking trails. He’d warned them that the trails could be a little difficult, muddy at times. He’d marked the route to a private cabin and dock owned by a couple from St. Cloud who’d left the Angle a week ago to visit their daughter in Orlando.

In the woods, the bugs were fierce, and the trail, as Bascombe had warned, was often a bed of muck. They made their way quickly, the sounds of their passage masked by the rattle of leaves in the wind. They climbed a modest ridge for a while, then dropped again toward the lake. Half an hour after they started, they emerged at the cabin and walked into the blast of the wind out of the southwest.

Kretsch was there, waiting for them at the dock. His boat rocked on the waves. Cork felt Jenny hesitate.

“It’ll be all right,” he said.

“Couldn’t we just take our chances driving out?”

She said. Cork turned to his daughter and, for an important moment, held her eyes with his own. “We could. But that’s not what we’ve planned, and with good reason. We know that Smalldog’s after this kid, and we know the kind of cruelty he’s capable of. I think we have a good chance of confusing him, and anyone who’s helping him. But it depends on taking your boy out across the big water. Tom says he can do that. I believe him. We’ll be fine, Jenny, I give you my word. Okay?”

He believed this or he wouldn’t have said it. But he also knew that the foundation of his belief was a matter less of the facts than of faith.

“We should go,” Kretsch urged. “Before we’re spotted.”

Rose said, “You’ll call us when you’ve reached the other shore?”

“Count on it,” Cork said. “Just make sure Seth keeps his land line open.”

Rose gave them all hugs, even Kretsch, who seemed a little embarrassed at the display of affection. The deputy got aboard and helped Jenny in. Cork handed over the ice chest with the baby inside and then the pack. Kretsch set the ice chest between the two rear seats and put the pack next to a couple of ten-gallon cans of extra fuel he’d secured near the engine. Cork cast off the lines and boarded, too. They donned life jackets, then Kretsch backed away from the dock. The flat stern pushed awkwardly against the roll of the waves until the deputy spun the wheel and put the nose of the bow into the wind. He nudged the throttle ahead, and they started south.

Cork recalled that Bascombe had likened Kretsch’s modest Tyee to a toothpick. The comparison seemed to be more than a little apt as they bounced across the chop of waves toward the big water, which at that moment, appeared to be as broad and perilous as an ocean.

THIRTY-FIVE

Rose, Mal, and Anne sat at the table in Bascombe’s lodge. Rose had made coffee, and the three of them sipped and listened to the wind and watched the clock set in the driftwood on the wall. Rose thought she’d never known time to pass so slowly. She wasn’t sure what the others were thinking, but she was praying.

“I remember once when I was a kid and Dad was sheriff,” Anne said eventually. Despite the heat of the day, she had her hands wrapped around her coffee mug as if she were cold. “He had to go out to a cabin where a man was holding his wife hostage.”

“Vernon Lucasta,” Rose said.

“Right,” Anne said.

The clock on the wall ticked away.

“What happened?” Mal finally asked.

“Dad got there and went inside, unarmed. He found Mrs. Lucasta—”

“Bianca,” Rose said.