Green Lake (5 page)

“Dammit,” she swore as she threw open the door and slammed her way out of the truck. She walked to the front and raised the hood, not knowing what she was doing, but thinking someone would stop once they saw it.

Someone did stop.

There were three of them in the SUV, and all of them got out when the driver pulled up behind Madeleine's truck. They were young, dressed in baggy jeans and dirty T-shirts, and two of them wore beards and cowboy hats, while the third wore a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.

“Engine trouble, ma'am?” said the man in the baseball cap.

“Yes,” she said and stood away as the three of them came up to crowd around the raised hood. None of them were looking at the engine, she noticed.

“You want us to check it out for you?”

“
If you would, please,” she said. Then, “Are you part of the search party for the missing little girl?”

She hoped to take their attention off her bare legs.

“Yes, ma'am, we were for a while, but we give it up when they found that windbreaker in the water. They ain't gonna find her. Not till she washes up somewhere. Me and the boys was on our way back to the boat. Figure to get some skiing in before the day's over.”

He leaned over the engine and began touching things, starting with the carburetor. The others watched, and one of them snickered and said something about a new transmission. Madeleine's brow dipped. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“Been out here long?” one of the bearded men asked.

“No. It happened just before you arrived.”

“Your lucky day,” said the other bearded man. “Or ours.”

“Ma'am,” said the one in the baseball cap, and he gestured for her to come and stand beside him. Madeleine forced herself to move as naturally as possible. When she was beside him, he slipped an arm across her shoulder and said, “Look here, you see this valve here?”

Madeleine attempted to shrug off his arm. “Yes, I see it.”

He tightened his grip. “And this float thing here?”

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. Her nostrils wanted to pinch shut at the smell of alcohol coming from him.

“You gotta whack the shit out of it ev'ry once in a while, ‘cause gas'll get it cruddy and make the float stick and really fuck up everything. Now, I ain't sure that's what's happened here right now, but I'm just telling you so you'll know, okay?”

“Please let go of me,” said Madeleine, and at the sound of her voice, the two bearded men moved closer, both of them grinning.

“Let go? Shit, I was just gonna ask if you wanted to come partying with me and the boys on our boat. What do you say? Come with us now and we'll pick up the truck later.”

“Let go,” Madeleine repeated. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”

She attempted to wrench herself away from him, and he laughed and snatched her by the arm.

“Hey, now don't get upset. The last time I fucked anything like you I was twelve and she was paid. We just thought you might like to come and party with us.”

“Let go of me!” Madeleine shouted right in his face, and he lifted an arm as if to smack her, but she ducked and threw herself away from him, right into the path of an oncoming truck.

Renard hit the brakes and Dale Russell was out of the passenger door before Eris could throw the truck into park. Russell picked Madeleine up out of the road and asked her if she was all right. Her entire body trembled as she pointed at the dead truck.

“I broke down. I thought they were going to help me, but they tried to make me go with them. He wouldn't let go of me when I asked.”

Russell placed her beside the CO truck and walked after Renard, who was already towering over the man in the baseball cap.

“We stopped to help her and she came on to us, man.”

“That's a lie!” Madeleine yelled.

Renard said something low to the man, something Madeleine couldn't hear, and he took off his sunglasses as he said it, so the man could look at his eyes.

The drunken man smirked, snorted, and began to back away from Renard. Within minutes, the men were in the SUV and speeding off across the bridge. Russell walked back to Madeleine, while Renard bent over to examine her truck.

“What did he say to them?” she asked.

“Just threatened them with arrest. My name is Dale Russell.” He offered his hand to Madeleine and she shook it, thinking this had to be the one her sister kept going on about. He was definitely handsome. Hazel eyes a shade darker than her own, wavy brown hair, a broad chest, and narrow hips.

“Madeleine Heron,” she said. “Glad to meet you.”

“Likewise, though the circumstances could have been better.”

“I was ready to panic,” Madeleine confessed. “There was no telling what might have happened if you and Renard hadn't come along.”

Russell looked surprised. “You know Renard?”

“He's my neighbor.”

“So you're staying in a cabin then?”

“I am. It belongs to my sister and her husband. They come up weekends, but I'm here for the summer.”

“Lucky Renard,” said Russell, smiling again to show the compliment was an honest one.

Madeleine looked away from him to see Renard glance at them from behind his dark glasses. She left Russell and walked over to him. “Can you see the problem?”

“Yes,” he said.

For some reason, Madeleine didn't think he was talking about the truck.

“Well?” she said, when he didn't elaborate. “What's wrong with it?”

“Fuel filter,” he said. “I've got one in the truck that should work.”

“You carry an extra fuel filter?”

“It comes in handy.”

“You can put it on right here?”

“We need to get the truck off the bridge.”

“Of course,” Madeleine said, and smarted at having been made to feel stupid.

“What did you say to those men?” she asked.

Renard finally turned to look at her. “Go to my truck and pull the seat down. The fuel filter is in a plainly marked box behind the seat. Bring it to me, please.”

She returned to the truck and heard Russell talking on the radio to someone. He smiled at her and leaned away when she reached in to get at the seat. Madeleine looked at him and was surprised. A few short months ago she would have been pleased to be smiled at so warmly by such a handsome man. Today she felt as if her answering smile was forced. Thank you, Sam.

“This it?” she said as she returned to Renard.

He looked up and nodded, then took the box from her fingers and placed it beside him while he concentrated on what he was doing.

‘‘Your toe still sore?”

“Yes.”

“The kittens enjoyed the food this morning.”

“Good.”

“Did they really find the little girl's windbreaker today?”

He glanced at her. “In the water.”

“Those men told me. They said they were part of the search.”

“Maybe,” said Renard with a grunt.

“Do you get a daily paper?” she asked.

“In the mail,” he said.

“Would you mind sharing it with me? It seems strange not to get a paper.”

He nodded and continued with what he was doing. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Russell still on the radio. He was laughing now.

“You can go back and wait with him if you like,” said Renard.

Madeleine looked at him. “I'm fine just watching. About the paper, you could leave it on the porch in the morning if you like, or in the evening, whenever you're finished with it.”

Renard breathed out through his nose and looked at her. “Miss Heron, has anyone ever told you how demanding you can be?”

“Demanding?” she said in surprise.

“Put the paper on your porch in the morning?”

“Not my porch,” she said quickly. “Your porch. I can walk down and take it off your porch. I would never ask you to walk up and put the paper on my porch.”

“Wouldn't you?”

Madeleine stood back, angry beyond belief. “How much do I owe you for the fuel filter?”

“Three dollars.”

This made her even angrier. To think that she had broken down, nearly been assaulted, and gone through all this insult for a three dollar auto part nearly made her spit. She jerked the door of the truck open and dug in her purse for the three dollars.

He was wiping his hands on a rag when she approached and reached up to stuff the bills in the pocket of his shirt.

“Thank you so much for coming to my aid, Mr. Renard. In the future I promise to be less demanding. You can take your paper and shove it up—”

“Whoa, neighbors,” said Russell, walking up in time to interrupt. His smile was broad as he looked at Madeleine and Renard. He clapped a hand on Renard's arm and said, “You're not letting this ugly old Indian get to you, are you?” he said jokingly to Madeleine.

“Not at all,” she said.

“Good. You look like the quiet, cultured type. Mind if I ask your situation?”

Madeleine lifted her brows. “My situation?”

“What you do. Why you're here.”

“I'm an ex-professor of anthropology,” Madeleine answered. “As for why I'm here, well, I've been wondering that myself for the last three days.”

She felt Renard look at her when she mentioned being an ex-professor. Then he directed his attention to finishing under the hood. Soon he was getting in behind the wheel to try and start the truck.

“An anthropologist,” said Russell with undisguised admiration. “I spotted that gleam of intelligence the moment I saw you.”

“Lying in the middle of the road and screaming my head off?”

“The next moment then,” said Russell, smiling his broad smile again.

Beside them, the truck's engine started and began to idle. Madeleine thanked Russell for his help and heard him say he looked forward to seeing her again, perhaps at the dance the following Thursday at Diamond Bay.

”A dance?” said Madeleine.

”A band comes in and sets up among the RV hookups. People get a chance to know each other and have some fun. You should come over.”

“I'll consider it,” said Madeleine.

“Good.”

She turned away from him to find Renard holding the door of the truck open for her. She couldn't read his eyes behind the dark glasses, and she kept hers purposely expressionless.

Demanding, he had said.

“Thank you again for your assistance,” she said, and watched as he did nothing to acknowledge her thanks. Not even a tip of the hat.

When she was on the seat and had her seatbelt on, he closed the door of the truck and walked away, back to his own truck. Russell gave her a final wave, and Madeleine nodded to him as she put the truck in gear and pulled away from the bridge.

On the way home she found
herself thinking of the way Renard's mouth had twitched when Russell called him an “ugly old Indian.” Madeleine didn't think he was necessarily ugly. It was the pits and scars that made his face appear so frightful. And neither was he old. It was difficult to tell, but she thought he was still under thirty.

Perhaps compared to Dale Russell, Eris Renard was ugly, but his better features were fated to be forever obscured by the proliferation of scars. Frequent exposure to him revealed a nice mouth with a perfect shape, though she had never seen him smile. His eyes, too, were striking, with long, thick lashes and curved black brows.

Madeleine experienced a strange spark when she saw his mouth twitch, and the urge to berate the handsome Dale Russell for his remark was strong. But she would only have embarrassed Renard by opening her mouth, and so she let it and all the anger she felt toward him pass.

Back at the cabin she fed the kittens another half can of food and watched as they snorted and sneezed and waded around on the plate. When they were finished, she got up and prepared their litter box, placing it in the corner of what Jacqueline called the mudroom, where a miniature washer and dryer sat. One by one she showed each kitten the position of the litter box and placed them inside to sniff and scratch around. When she was satisfied they knew where to find it, she went into the kitchen to wash her hands and see about something to eat for her.

She had left a chicken out to thaw earlier and was busy preparing it when she realized that up to now she had been joking and kidding with herself about being lonely, but suddenly it was no longer a joke. After only a few days on her own with no sister and no students and only a surly neighbor to talk to, she was ready to cry her eyes out.

“It's got to get better,” she whispered to herself as she marinated the chicken in Italian dressing.

She thought of the dance next Thursday and wondered what her chances were of running into the three idiots who had accosted her that day. Or worse, of running into any of the neighbors she had met thus far.

She put the chicken in the oven and stuck some potatoes in the microwave to bake. She made a salad, some rolls, a steamer full of broccoli, and took out a cheesecake to thaw. In the back of her mind she knew she wasn't going to eat all of it herself, and when she saw Renard's truck pull in that evening she had the plate all ready. She carried the food down to his cabin and knocked on his door. His expression was one of irritated disbelief when he opened the door and saw her standing there. She could tell it was a struggle for him to resist shutting the door in her face.