 VII. Barol 2:00 PM Lake Shayadoh rippled in the wind, disrupting its black-mirrored surface. Reine stood at the shore, pulling her gray jacket closer to her and trying not to think. The thought of a certain literary editor made her stomach clench uncomfortably. The smooth stones beneath her feet gleamed enticingly, wanting her to pick them up, to skip them on the rough lake surface, but she ignored them. Instead, she opted to walk along the shore, her back to the plateau with the house. Reine had taken her hair down from the ponytail she had earlier. The wind was whipping the strands crazily, but she didn’t care if they got tangled. The shore was slightly rocky but edged towards sand as land became water. The forest stayed a respectable distance away. There was a trail that forked off from the shore to join with the forest, but she ignored that. At its widest, the lake was about three miles in diameter. In the center of Lake Shayadoh was an island that appeared forested. The Baron, who had tagged along with this wife to visit Ira before, had mentioned that the apparent forest was only a line of trees rimming the perimeter of the island. The interior was actually quite bare and rocky and ideal for camping. The Baron was already busy planning another camping expedition and had roped Hadrian and Marcus into his grand plans. While they were in deep conversation, Reine had made a hasty exit through the back doors in the den. As the shoreline sharply turned, she saw the boathouse, a hastily erected shack of shingles painted a deep green. A door leading to the shore was open and she peeked inside, finding two motorboats and a rowboat docked inside. On the walls hung various equipment and life preservers. Outside on the pier were three red kayaks. A small pleasure yacht was anchored a few yards away. She walked out to the pier. Two lonely chairs sat at the edge with a flower box between them. A few dried up marigolds stuck out of the soil in the flower box. The water churned underneath the pier, creating a periodic creaking whenever the waves lapped upon the supports. She looked down into the water and she saw nothing, not even her reflection. She sat back on a chair and closed her eyes. “Fine day, isn’t it?” She cracked her eyes open and saw that Larrington had taken the opposite seat. Her first impulse was to tell him to go away rudely, but she kept her mouth shut. He was wearing a thin navy jacket that barely covered his growing stomach. The wind blew apart his graying hair, revealing a bald spot. His face wasn’t ruddy this time with anger, but with the cold brisk air. “My aunt lived on this property ever since she was born. My grandfather bought the property off Phineas Cronan’s family.” “She did a pretty nice job doing the upkeep of the house.” “I’m surprised she didn’t turn it into a bed and breakfast. It’s more profitable,” said Larrington. “About the schedule.” “We mailed it to you, Larrington. If you check your mail more often, you’d find that you also receive progress reports from all the department heads. They’re also in your e-mail if you bother to check your computer. All the secretaries in the world can’t help you if you don’t even look at the stuff people send you.” “I have no time to do that,” he said dismissively. “Besides, I have to take care of my aunt. She’s getting on in years.” “Ira looks like she could take care of herself.” “Ah, that’s the thing though. She’s very good at fooling people. Lately though, she’s been completely ignoring me, you know? I wonder if her mind is going.” “She seems perfectly lucid to me.” “Every time I ask to talk with her, she’s always working on her damned manuscript. It’s not like she’s scribbling away on some profound masterwork. She writes trashy mysteries and she makes enough money selling those. You’d think she’ll have a few minutes in her day to talk to me, her nephew.” Reine refrained from saying that Ira was perfectly justified in ignoring an annoying relative who constantly pounded down her door. “Ira’s novels sell well. They’re not just trashy if so many people in the public like reading them.” “Bah.” His eyes gleamed. “Say, Ira likes you. She’s always talking to you. Do a favor for me, go talk to her and mention me. I really need to talk with her about some important things.” She looked away and stared at the lake. “I have no influence on her. I’m just an editor. A science editor at that.” “But you’re her friend.” “Hm.” Larrington grinned, as if triumphant. Reine did not like his smile as he stood up. It looked too conspiratorial. “Thanks. I owe you one.” Even if he did owe her one, she doubted that he would pay up. “I’m going for a hike up into the woods. Care to join me?” “No thanks. I like it here just fine.” Larrington whistled and strolled down the pier, his heavy steps making the wood creak and the stones on the shore crackle. With his departure, the wind died down and the waves lessened. Restless, Reine finally stood up. She wanted the wind to blow through her hair and to sting her cheeks. She liked the implied danger even if she didn’t like Larrington. Ira’s nephew had taken the path that deviated from the path along the shore. She seemed to recall that one of the guests had said that the path to the woods led to the old ruined church. She had a hankering to see it, but not at the moment, and especially not when Larrington was on the same path. The ground crunched at her feet as she stepped from the pier back to the path. “Ah, Reine, going out for a stroll too?” From the direction of the house the Baroness, Tabora, strolled toward her. She was wearing a long black woolen coat with a matching black beret. A colorful scarf wound around her neck. “It’s a wonderful day for a walk. Not too cloudy. And it’s not too sunny either.” “Yes,” Reine agreed. She waited for Tabora to catch up with her and then fell into step, walking along the shore. “I escaped when your husband and my friends began talking about camping equipment.” “Men.” Tabora smiled. “They’re obsessed with their little toys. But camping isn’t too bad, especially since they’re talking about the island. There are campgrounds at the center. That is, there are facilities there for bathing and going to the bathroom so it’s not completely caveman territory.” “I take it that your husband has dragged you out there once before?” “He loves doing those kind of things. It’s kind of a puzzle to me since we can just as easily stay at home or go to a hotel where there are so many creature comforts.” Reine stared outward at the lake. “Tell me about the island. Does it have a name?” She shook her head. “If it does, I haven’t heard of it. No one bothered naming it, I suppose, since it’s all the way out here and hardly anyone goes out there anyway.” They walked further, companionably. Tabora told her of her relationship with Ira. They had been childhood friends ever since her father had moved to America for two years. Afterwards, they had corresponded often by letters and by phone. When they were young women, they had taken a tour of Europe together doing many wild things. “What we did together, it shows in her books,” said Tabora. “We were wild, undisciplined. If we didn’t have to go back to our families within the year, it would be safe to say that we would still be roaming Europe as spinster bohemians looking for a good time. It was during our time in Europe that we met Vicker.” “He is then also an old friend along in your youthful escapades?” “That’s putting it lightly. We three had interesting times, until Vicker was called away to manage his family business because his uncle had just died and his uncle had no children to pass it on. In some ways, it’s not a surprise that he has a young wife. His third, I believe. I don’t blame him for attempting to recapture youth.” “She looks like she’s only after his money.” “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Tabora sighed. “What is surprising is that your friends won’t take her hints.” “My friends told me they don’t go for married women.” “Ah, yes. Good for them. Vicker is the type of man who would go after his wife’s lover with a loaded pistol.” “Aren’t most…” Reine stopped. “Did you hear something?” “What dear?” The wind was howling in her ears, but she had heard something else—a cross between mewling and squeaking. “Wait here a moment.” Reine traipsed to the edge of the forest and pushed some bushes aside. Gold eyes peered at her through a fishing net. “A cat,” she said, surprised. “You are a cat, aren’t you? Not a cougar? No, those live in the mountains.” She held out a hand. The cat craned his neck and sniffed. He mewled. “Sorry buddy. I don’t have a pocket knife with me. I guess I’ll have to take you and the net back with me.” “Did you find something?” called out Tabora. “Hold on for a moment.” She tugged at the fishing lines until it came free from the branches. Carefully, she picked up the cat and wrapped up the trailing net so that it wouldn’t trip her. The cat purred. “Geez, don’t count your chickens before they hatch. I haven’t gotten you out of the net yet!” Out in the light, she saw that the cat was small and skinny. His ribs faintly showed through his amber colored coat. His face was a delicate wedge resembling an elf’s face. His large pointed ears pricked up as Tabora approached, exclaiming excitedly. “How wonderful. He looks like a stray. There’s no collar.” “Maybe we should go into town and ask around first. He looks like a show cat, actually.” The cat yawned and settled himself against Reine. His long tail curled around her arm. “That’s right. He looks a lot like an Abyssinian. I have a cousin who owns a breeding pair, but they certainly don’t have his color. They were much darker.” “I wonder how he got trapped in the fishing net in the first place.” “He probably smelled fish. There is a place a little further up the coast where fishermen like to visit often. Someone careless must have thrown it into the woods.” They trekked back to the car shed at the bottom of the plateau and found a pair of shears to cut away at the net. Once the cat was freed, he trotted beside Reine as the two women walked back to the house. “So what are you going to name him?” “Name him?” said Reine, bewildered. “Yes. You found him. You get the rights to name him.” “I don’t know. An Abyssinian is an Egyptian cat right?” “People used to think they were Egyptian cats,” corrected Tabora, “but they really aren’t. They were actually imported from Ethiopia.” “Well, I don’t know any Ethiopian names. And I don’t want to name him something common. He doesn’t look common. But I’m not very creative. What’s today?” “I think it’s Tuesday.” “Then I’ll call him Tuesday. How about that?” The cat flicked his tail in agreement. They walked to the back of the house and opened the back door to the den. Esther sat on a couch sipping tea. The Baron, Hadrian, and Marcus were standing around looking at the chessboard. Black had apparently moved in response to white. “Somebody, or rather two people here are playing a game. It looks like the beginning. I wonder they each know they’re playing against each other?” said the Baron. “Hey, don’t look at me,” said Hadrian, “If Marcus beats me every time I play, I’m not attempting to touch chess pieces especially if my opponent is faceless.” Marcus looked up at the sound of the opening door. His gaze automatically fixed upon Reine. “You’re back.” “Of course I’m back.” Amanda, who had been napping underneath the coffee table woke up and yipped as he spotted the strange cat at Reine’s feet. Tuesday took off, climbing up the first person he bumped into. “Hey!” exclaimed Marcus. “What a marvelous looking cat,” said Esther. She moved purposefully toward Marcus. Amanda careened in a chunky trot toward Marcus, intent on investigating the new feline intruder. From Marcus’s shoulder, Tuesday meowed indignantly. “What’s going on here?” Larrington had apparently also gotten back from his walk. He shouldered past Reine and Tabora to see what was happening. “Amanda!” Hadrian commanded. The English bulldog stopped suddenly, looking confused in Hadrian’s direction. Esther did not see the bulldog at her feet. She shrieked as she tripped over the prone dog. Automatically, Marcus stepped backward to avoid the falling woman. Larrington stepped forward and grabbed Esther by her waist. “These are marvelous scones, Mary,” said Vicker as he entered the den with the housekeeper with a pastry in hand. “Give your thanks to Hadrian. He made them this morning.” “Hadrian? One of the young men who’s an editor you mean? Well, I’ll…” He nearly choked. “Get your hands off my wife!” Larrington abruptly let go of Esther as if she was radioactive waste. “I was just trying to prevent her from falling. She tripped over the dog.” Amanda barked and drooled over Esther’s boots. “Blaming the dog is a poor excuse,” said Vicker. His face was getting red. “Calm down, darling,” said Esther. “It was all an accident.” She shoved at Amanda with the toe of her boot, but the bulldog refused to budge. Reine walked over to Marcus to pluck an annoyed Tuesday off his shoulder. “Hey, it looks like white moved from a minute ago.” The white bishop on the board was definitely out of place. Someone had moved it while everyone was occupied with the commotion in the den. It was on a totally different square. “I didn’t do it,” Hadrian protested as eyes landed on him. “Come on Amanda. It’s time to bale out.” The bulldog finally moved at Hadrian’s voice. Esther breathed a sigh of relief. © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |