deal.’ I said no. He said, ‘Well, it’s no rumor. Lyle’s got an iron-clad guarantee on the best property on Stony Lake.’ Then he grinned again, real wide, and said he’d always wanted to leak a story to the press. And he left.” Carol leaned back and was silent, bottom lip thrust out. She glanced from one man to the other.
Jack’s face looked as solid as the mahogany bar that reflected its image. His dark eyes didn’t blink. His forearms twitched in a kind of rolling motion from wrist to elbow. He said, “Everyone knows you’ve got the choice spot on this lake, Gun. What the hell’s Barr talking about?”
Carol watched Gun’s face.
Gun didn’t answer, only sighed and withdrew be hind a scowl that made his eyes disappear. From Jack’s kitchen came the lazy sound of a country- western tune crackling through poor reception. Either Mazy had said nothing to Carol about the land
transfer or else Carol was playing dumb. But the lines in her forehead looked earnest, and Gun figured she didn’t know any more than what she was letting on. “I think you’ll be finding out soon enough,” he said finally. He tipped his head slightly toward Carol Long and walked out of Jack Be Nimble’s into aspen shade and brilliant splotches of noon sun.
9
The bells at Reverend Barr’s church were doing their post-service chiming as Gun approached the edge of Stony. On impulse, he turned off Main Street and guided his truck along First Avenue toward the high- steepled edifice of red brick. He double-parked in front of it, sat with his elbow out the window, watching the parishioners file out the church doors and down the steps. Reverend Barr pumped hand after hand, often leaning close to offer words of either flattery or wit, judging from the response of his flock: nods or shakes of head, embarrassed shrugs, tossed hands—”Oh, you!” Gun wondered how Barr had managed to squeeze Loon Country into this week’s sermon. According to Jack, a sometime church goer, last week Barr had used the parable of the talents, that great New Testament defense of capi talism.
Now Samuel Barr was shaking County Commis sioner Tig Larson’s hand. Larson had a stiff smile on his face, an anxious set to his shoulders. He escaped quickly. As he turned onto the sidewalk, Gun eased the truck forward and pulled up alongside him.
“Hey, Larson. Surprised to see you’re still attend ing.”
Larson didn’t slow down.
“Larson!”
Larson turned, his face uncharacteristically wrin kled. He pointed at his watch. “Sorry, Gun, I’m kind of in a hurry. If you don’t mind . ..”
“No problem.” Gun accelerated, watching Larson in his rearview mirror. There was no use talking to him, anyway.
Turning back onto Main Street, Gun headed west. He had made a mistake signing his property over to Mazy. A bad mistake, no doubt about it. But it was done. The question now was how it happened. Had she transferred the land over to Hedman willingly or unwillingly? Had she been somehow forced into mar rying Geoff—or was it her own free choice? Were they married at all?
Gun swerved to miss a squirrel dodging across the road, then down-shifted and turned north on the lake road, gave the big eight-cylinder some gas and shifted back up into fourth.
No, he simply couldn’t feature it, couldn’t even squeeze the two of them into his imagination at the same time. It was impossible. If his daughter was married to Lyle Hedman’s son, it wasn’t because she wanted to be. A chill shook Gun’s shoulders and tingled clear out to his fingertips. He spoke out loud, in order to convince himself. “She wouldn’t,” he said.
The lake road was rough with potholes. The county men hadn’t been around yet to repair the damage done by the recent winter’s frost heaves. As Gun steered the Ford around Shipman’s Bay he caught sight of old Leo Hardy, alone the last quarter century, standing tall and mackinawed on his dock. Leo waved, and Gun tapped two hoots on the
Jack’s face looked as solid as the mahogany bar that reflected its image. His dark eyes didn’t blink. His forearms twitched in a kind of rolling motion from wrist to elbow. He said, “Everyone knows you’ve got the choice spot on this lake, Gun. What the hell’s Barr talking about?”
Carol watched Gun’s face.
Gun didn’t answer, only sighed and withdrew be hind a scowl that made his eyes disappear. From Jack’s kitchen came the lazy sound of a country- western tune crackling through poor reception. Either Mazy had said nothing to Carol about the land
transfer or else Carol was playing dumb. But the lines in her forehead looked earnest, and Gun figured she didn’t know any more than what she was letting on. “I think you’ll be finding out soon enough,” he said finally. He tipped his head slightly toward Carol Long and walked out of Jack Be Nimble’s into aspen shade and brilliant splotches of noon sun.
9
The bells at Reverend Barr’s church were doing their post-service chiming as Gun approached the edge of Stony. On impulse, he turned off Main Street and guided his truck along First Avenue toward the high- steepled edifice of red brick. He double-parked in front of it, sat with his elbow out the window, watching the parishioners file out the church doors and down the steps. Reverend Barr pumped hand after hand, often leaning close to offer words of either flattery or wit, judging from the response of his flock: nods or shakes of head, embarrassed shrugs, tossed hands—”Oh, you!” Gun wondered how Barr had managed to squeeze Loon Country into this week’s sermon. According to Jack, a sometime church goer, last week Barr had used the parable of the talents, that great New Testament defense of capi talism.
Now Samuel Barr was shaking County Commis sioner Tig Larson’s hand. Larson had a stiff smile on his face, an anxious set to his shoulders. He escaped quickly. As he turned onto the sidewalk, Gun eased the truck forward and pulled up alongside him.
“Hey, Larson. Surprised to see you’re still attend ing.”
Larson didn’t slow down.
“Larson!”
Larson turned, his face uncharacteristically wrin kled. He pointed at his watch. “Sorry, Gun, I’m kind of in a hurry. If you don’t mind . ..”
“No problem.” Gun accelerated, watching Larson in his rearview mirror. There was no use talking to him, anyway.
Turning back onto Main Street, Gun headed west. He had made a mistake signing his property over to Mazy. A bad mistake, no doubt about it. But it was done. The question now was how it happened. Had she transferred the land over to Hedman willingly or unwillingly? Had she been somehow forced into mar rying Geoff—or was it her own free choice? Were they married at all?
Gun swerved to miss a squirrel dodging across the road, then down-shifted and turned north on the lake road, gave the big eight-cylinder some gas and shifted back up into fourth.
No, he simply couldn’t feature it, couldn’t even squeeze the two of them into his imagination at the same time. It was impossible. If his daughter was married to Lyle Hedman’s son, it wasn’t because she wanted to be. A chill shook Gun’s shoulders and tingled clear out to his fingertips. He spoke out loud, in order to convince himself. “She wouldn’t,” he said.
The lake road was rough with potholes. The county men hadn’t been around yet to repair the damage done by the recent winter’s frost heaves. As Gun steered the Ford around Shipman’s Bay he caught sight of old Leo Hardy, alone the last quarter century, standing tall and mackinawed on his dock. Leo waved, and Gun tapped two hoots on the
Similar Books
