The Secrets of Lake Road - Karen Katchur Page 0,68

gossip. It was typical, and Gram could more than handle herself with a few nosy neighbors.

Jo thought about Sara and Patricia, Pattie, and her own bit of news. She’d have to tell Kevin what she had learned, but she wanted to talk to Heil first, to get the men back on the lake and searching.

She slipped into clean clothes and sneaked out the back porch, making sure the door didn’t slam behind her.

* * *

Jo’s hands were clammy by the time she had reached the Pavilion. The place was lit up, the jukebox blared, the sound of laughter rang through the air. She marched up the steps, grateful they were empty. On any given night, Johnny and his gang might have been hanging out drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and doing whatever else she didn’t let herself think about.

Inside, the pool tables were crowded with kids. The Needlemeyer twins looked her way as she strode past. The snack stand was open. On the second-floor bar she heard the scraping of barstools and felt the vibrations of pounding, dancing feet.

She pushed Heil’s office door open without knocking. He was sitting behind a cheap-looking desk next to a metal filing cabinet. Several mounts hung on the wall—lake trout, pike, big-mouthed bass. A couple of fishing poles were tucked in the corner of the room. His face registered surprise. His greasy head glowed under the bright light. He leaned back in the chair, exposing the expanse of his stomach, and slipped his hand underneath the waistband of his shorts, tapping his thumb on his bloated belly.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. “Although, after the way you barged in here, doesn’t make me want to do much.”

“Patricia is Pattie Dugan. She’s one of us,” she said, ignoring his snide remark and his hand in his shorts.

“Pattie Dugan. Now why does that name sound familiar?”

“Bob and Jean Dugan. They were lake regulars for years. Patricia is their daughter. She’s Pattie Dugan.”

He shrugged. “And what of it?”

“She’s not some outsider. She’s not a one-season wonder. And we have to do everything we can to help her.”

He raised his hands as if to say, Why?

She stared at him, confused by his nonchalant attitude. It suddenly occurred to her that he knew all along who Patricia was. He knew and it hadn’t mattered. “You knew all this time.”

“Of course I knew. I make it my business to know everything about everybody who comes to my lake.”

“It’s not your lake.”

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.”

She rubbed her brow. She didn’t want to get into the same tiresome argument about lake ownership. She didn’t see the point, not now. “You have to get the men back on the lake, searching. You have to find her daughter,” Jo said. “She’s one of us.”

“Do I?” Heil placed his hands square on the desk. He leaned forward. The chair creaked under his weight. He narrowed his eyes. “One of us? Is that who you think you are?” he asked. “Your family, your mother, especially, has given me nothing but trouble since she bought that cabin. So let’s get something straight. You’re not one of us. You never were.”

Jo was taken back. “My family has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, I think they do,” he said. “Have you talked with your daughter? If anyone is to blame for stopping the search, it’s the kids who messed with those traps.”

“She had nothing to do with that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “I can’t prove it. I can’t prove a lot of things that happen on my lake—not legally anyway—which brings me around to you.” His eyes roamed her body.

She crossed her arms, covering her breasts. “What about me?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You may have fooled everyone else around here, but I know who you really are. I know what you’re capable of.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

He leaned across the desk. “I hear you like it rough.”

“You’re disgusting.” She took a step back.

“Am I?” He came up out of his seat and leaned farther across the desk, his large stomach resting on top, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. “You don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing with those boys under my Pavilion steps? On my beach? Why don’t you tell me what really happened to Billy Hawke?”

She stumbled backward. “This isn’t about me or—Or Billy. This is about a little girl,” she stuttered. “And her mother.”

His face burned red. “You’re damn right, it is. So why don’t