Joe started to rise, and Dad shook his head, then proceeded to snap bacon in half and position it on a waffle. “One of you take Becca to her apartment. The other can do inventory on the feed. We’ll need to place an order this week.” He slapped the second waffle on top of the first, picked up his sandwich, and left.
I was still frowning at that abrupt departure when Jamie said, “Call it.”
A quarter flipped end over end over end through the air.
“Tails.” Joe shoveled the remains of his breakfast into his mouth.
Jamie slapped the coin onto the back of his hand, peeked and tucked it into his pocket. “You take Becca; I take inventory.”
I kissed my mom then followed my brothers out the door.
My dad’s truck was gone, which was odd. To check a fence he usually took a tractor or an ATV.
“Who won the toss?” I asked.
Jamie winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Chapter 8
Joe was his usual silent self as we headed toward Three Harbors. I didn’t mind. I half dozed with my forehead against the window.
The flash of brilliant blue from Stone Lake brought me out of my stupor in time to witness Owen’s white rent-a-truck parked in front of a cabin. He’d taken Chief Deb’s advice. He hadn’t had much choice. With Reggie in tow it was Stone Lake or … my parents’ house. I could understand his reluctance to return there. Too many people, too much action.
Too many memories.
I closed my eyes. Seeing Owen again had brought back just how hard it had been to get over him. I’d been right to say we should avoid each other as much as possible. Spending any more time with him might erase all the progress I’d made. Not that there’d been all that much. I dreamed of him weekly, thought of him daily, missed him hourly.
Yeah, I was over him all right.
“Lot of sighs coming from over there,” Joe observed.
I made a snoring sound and kept my eyes closed. Because he was Joe, he let me.
A blip in the road tapped my head against the glass. I opened my eyes. We were trolling down Carstairs Avenue.
Ahead of us, the newspaper delivery van rolled from business to business distributing a daily dose of information. While many small towns had lost their newspaper completely, or had at least had their daily subscription scaled back to biweekly, Three Harbors maintained a healthy circulation.
Perhaps part of the reason was that the owner of the Three Harbors Herald also owned the Lakeside Hotel, a thriving business that could fund the dying one. Perched on the shores of Lake Superior, the place had recently been filled to capacity with tourists in town for the annual Falling Leaves Festival.
Three Harbors had prospered on tourism. Summer vacations, autumn leaf viewing, winter snowmobiling and cross-country skiing, as well as various hunting seasons ensured that the town didn’t struggle often. Even when the economy tanked, we remained busy. Folks that would have gone to Europe, or the Caymans, or some other expensive place, would instead remain closer to home.
Spring was our only down season, and in northern Wisconsin spring was mostly a myth. If it did make an appearance, people often blinked and missed it completely. I could probably make a bundle on T-shirts that read: SPRING IN WISCONSIN? JUST LIKE WINTER EVERYWHERE ELSE.
“Will you be able to catch some sleep this morning?” Joe asked.
“I think I can.” No messages on my voice mail yet. Almost a miracle. Still … there was something I was supposed to do today. What was it?
“Jeremy,” I muttered.
“I’m Joe,” my brother said, enunciating his name, drawing out the “oooo.”
“Very funny. A professor from the university is supposed to come in today and take a peek at the crime scene.”
“Why is that bad?”
“You didn’t see the crime scene.”
“Can I?”
“No!” I glanced at him, and he stuck out his tongue. “Why would you want to?”
Joe slid the truck to a stop at the curb in front of my building. “I’m a seventeen-year-old boy,” he said, as if that answered the question. And it kind of did, along with raising another one.
“You know anyone who’s got an unhealthy interest in Satan?”
“Is there a way to have a healthy interest in Satan?”
He made a good point. “I meant are there any kids at school that seem overly weird?”
“Define overly.”
I rubbed my forehead. I was too damn tired for this. “What do they call kids who look very Ozzy these days?”