In the House On Lakeside Drive (12 page)

“Ain't no concern of yours,” Cooper spat. “Came to check on the welfare of my nephew. Seeing as how his life was in danger and all.”

“Like you give a shit.”

“Matters to me if he's still breathing.” Sam heard a rough tug of cloth and safely assumed that the evil man had wrested himself out of Evan's grip.

“Remy's fine. Or he was until you showed up,” Sam spat.

“Enough, Sam,” Evan warned. “Get inside. Josh, you too. We're fine.”

“You…you sure?” Josh stammered, drawing closer to Sam. “'Cause…'cause I can…”

“We're fine,” Evan repeated, more firmly this time. “Did you call the cops?”

“Yes,” both kids said in unison. The warble of a police siren served to back up their statement, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief as he heard the vehicle pull to a stop and two doors open from it.

“There a problem here?” one of the officers asked. Sam recognized it as Jesse Baker's voice. Jesse's son Allan had graduated OLBC the year before, and Officer Baker had spent a lot of time up at the school.

“This piece of shit isn't supposed to be anywhere near Remy,” Evan began. “His lawyer filed a restraining order a month ago.”

“I was checkin' on my nephew's welfare,” Cooper insisted. “Seein' as how I wasn't notified about what happened and all.”

“Are you your nephew's guardian?” Officer Baker asked.

“No, he's not,” Sam piped up. “Remy can sign his own papers.”

“Not financially, he can't,” Cooper shot back. “Still needs a signature there, he does.”

“His lawyer is his guardian in that respect,” Evan explained. “But legally, yes, Remy is his own guardian.”

“Where is Remy now?” the other officer, a woman, asked. Sam hadn't heard her before.

“Inside,” Josh said, his voice unusually timid. “Miss…Miss Rachel took him inside a-after Sam started sticking up for him.”

“He was trying to scare Remy,” Sam defended. “Gave him something else to focus on.”

“Little shit was beating me with that metal stick of his!” Cooper yelled. “I wanna press charges!”

“
You
were terrorizing him! And you don't have any right to be here anyway!”

Evan pulled Sam aside. “Sam, did you hit him?”

Sam fell silent. “Only once, when he came after me. I told him to leave Remy alone. He charged me.”

“I was provoked!”

“All right!” Officer Baker shouted, the group instantly falling silent. “Cooper, you've got no grounds to file a complaint, though feel free to try. You
are
coming with us, though, on charges of violating a restraining order. And as for you, son,” he said, his voice directed straight at Sam, “while I appreciate you trying to help your friend, I'd think twice about resorting to violence. That's what we're here for, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam's ire rose a little for the admonishment, but deep down he knew the older man was right.

“Okay. Cooper, get in the car and shut the hell up.” The sounds of squabbling, feet trudging, and metal bracelets clicking into place rang out as the driveway slowly cleared out.

“Josh, go inside, okay?” Evan said.

“You coming?”

“I've got to unload the truck. Sam's gonna help me, right, Sam?” There was a tone in Evan's voice that told the younger man not to push it.

“Right.” The porch boards creaked and the front door squealed as Josh went inside. Sam followed the sound of Evan's footsteps toward where the work truck was usually parked, and he waited for the man to open the tailgate.

“Sam, what possessed you to go after Cooper Lavelle? That wasn't the smartest move there.” Cardboard crinkled against the textured flatbed of the truck, and the tailgate wobbled as Evan jumped out of the vehicle.

“I'm tired of him picking on Remy. He's an asshole.”

“He
is
an asshole,” Evan agreed. “But he's a
mean
asshole, and dangerous. You're lucky you weren't hurt, or worse.” The slender man sighed. “Sam, I know you can move around really well for someone who can't see—hell, even
I
forget you're blind sometimes—but against someone like Cooper, he'll use your handicap to his advantage. Every time.” He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, stilling the teenager. “Do you understand?”

Sam let out a sigh. “Yes. I just didn't want him coming after Remy again.”

A chuckle escaped thin lips. “I daresay the idiot will think twice about coming after
you
, that's for sure.” Evan picked up one end of the flat screen, tapping the box to indicate that Sam should get the other. “Think you can help me get this up the stairs in one piece, or should I call Josh?”

“I can get it to the porch. You might need Josh to make sure I don't drop it.”

Evan laughed. “Josh!”

* * *

“Three days,” Cooper whined as he left the cells of the Otter Lake police substation. “Left me to rot there three days, Travis.”

“Wasn't easy comin' up with five hundred to bail you out, now was it?” his companion shot back, his grizzled face matching his current mood. “Don't I even get a ‘thanks, asshole' for springin' your ass?”

“Thanks, asshole.” Cooper was in no mood. The thought of his current station grated on him, and the fact that he was now in debt to one of the most underhanded drunks in a hundred miles didn't help. Travis Mason was as ambitious as Cooper was, but at least he got a disability check in the mail each month due to a bad ticker. Cooper's only meal ticket had run out and left him drifting in the wind, scraping by on the occasional handout or odd job not performed by that sanctimonious shit the brat lived with. “I do appreciate it.”

“You better. You're in the hole now near two grand, and time's comin' where you'll need to settle up.”

Cooper stared. “Two grand? Not likely.”

“Last month's rent on that place you call a house, plus bail and the occasional bottle of scotch. And by ‘occasional,' I mean a bottle a week for the last year and three months. So, yeah, two grand. And mind you, we'll come to collect.”

The thought of Travis and his kin setting foot in Otter Lake to make good on that promise, knocking on his door to take what he owed out of him was enough to set the spiteful man on edge. The thought of the four Mason brothers tossing his house while Travis himself held the proceeds only served to make him more resentful of his only living relative. He racked his brain, forcibly sobered up due to his stay in lockup, when something occurred to him.

“Hey, Travis,” Cooper said, “Ever been to Rick's Tavern, just between here and North Kingston, near the highway?”

“Once or twice. Why?”

“Was in there a couple of weeks ago. Strangest thing, though: I think there was someone looking to pull some kind of job in there. A high-paying one.”

The grizzled face turned, and beetle-black eyes peered out of a nest of long gray beard. “What kind of job?”

“Lucrative. Three young fellows, eyeing up that bastard Dyer and his woman. Those kids too.”

Travis snorted. “Sure, Cooper. Not like everyone doesn't know you're pissed about your nephew growin' a pair and running from your place like a house on fire.”

“Beside the point,” Cooper said, waving the comment off. “Sounded to me like one of them had an axe to grind with Dyer, although he didn't use his name. Mentioned some guy named Liam or something.”

“Your point?”

“My point is, we find those fellows, and we could cut ourselves in on it. Let them do the heavy lifting and collect the spoils once it's done.” Privately, Cooper imagined what he might do with his own golden goose once he had hold of him, but he kept mum about it. To his knowledge, no one in Otter Lake aside from that meddling lawyer Vendell knew about the vast fortune that his nephew stood to inherit, and Cooper wanted to keep it that way.

“Heard about the break-in. You think that was them?”

“I know it wasn't
me
, and the cops are looking to pin that on me as well as this ridiculous restraining order violation. I'm guessing it wasn't one of your projects.”

“Be guessin' right. I don't need that kind of shit. Got other things in mind.” The look on his fellow drunkard's face gave Cooper some hope. “Lucrative, you say?”

“Possibly. What do we know about those other kids living with Dyer and his dame?”

“Not enough, I'm guessin'.”

“Wouldn't be hard to ask around. Public records and all.”

“Might do to find these ‘entrepreneurs' you were talkin' about. I'd like to know more, if you follow me.” Travis's face worked a slow smile as big as his ample girth.

“Rick's Tavern is looking better and better all the time. Of course, you'll have to buy.”

“For some possible business? I think I could spot you a scotch or two.”

Chapter 16

Snow fell in Otter Lake on Christmas Eve for the first time that season. Josh stared as big, fluffy flakes piled on top of each other in the yard, causing drifts to ripple up the driveway toward the lonely road above. Behind the house, the lake had frosted over, leaving only a large hole of water near the center free-flowing.

“Too bad it's Christmas Eve,” Remy said, standing behind the younger tenant. “Would have made for a nice snow day.”

“But we get presents,” Josh said, barely containing his excitement. “And ham!”

“I like turkey better.” Remy stirred his spoon in his dish of cereal, poking at the frosted corn flakes as though they were alive. He sighed. “Did you finish your shopping?”

“Uh-huh. Got it wrapped too.” Josh turned from the window. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” He gave up on the cereal and emptied it into the trash, putting the bowl in the sink.

“Hey, that's wasting food.” Josh pointed an accusing finger at Remy, daring him to deny the accusation.

“I'm not hungry. And besides, you don't eat cereal.”

“Evan might've. Or, or Sam…”

“Sam eats peanut butter toast with jelly on it. Every morning. Have you ever seen him eat different?”

Josh thought about that. “Yeah,” he said finally. “When Miss Rachel makes eggs. He likes those.” His stomach growled, and Josh looked sheepish. “Me too.”

Remy rubbed his chin. “Yeah, eggs sound good.” He reached underneath the counter to grab the old battered frying pan, one of the few articles that had escaped destruction or theft during the break-in. “Grab the egg carton, would you?”

“You…you don't know how to make eggs.”

Remy sighed louder. “Yeah, I do. I've seen Miss Rachel do it lots of times. It's not hard.”

“But…”

“You want eggs?”

Josh looked at Remy, his eyes shining. “Yeah.”

“Can
you
cook eggs?”

“Well…no…”

“Then I guess it's gonna be me making them, isn't it?” Remy got out the butter and eggs, and reached for a shallow soup plate. He cracked the whole dozen into the plate, and then poured milk into the eggs before beginning to beat them. The egg mixture spilled over the sides of the shallow plate, leaving puddles of yellow on the bar table and drops on the cracked linoleum floor.

“We…we could wake up Miss Rachel…”

“She and Evan were out late last night finishing
their
shopping. You really want to wake them up?”

Josh thought about that a moment. “No,” he replied. “She's usually cranky when she doesn't sleep.”

“
Real
cranky. Evan too. Plus, wouldn't it be nice to surprise them for Christmas?”

“Yeah, it would.”

“There you go. Drop some butter in the frying pan, would you?”

Small hands curled a spoon into the tub of margarine and pushed a dollop into the cool pan bottom. Remy let the margarine melt a little before pouring the eggs into the pan, turning the heat on medium. He stirred them, making sure they didn't stick to the bottom of the gritty pan.

“Hey, we should make bacon.” Josh began rummaging through the refrigerator, still trying to sort out the new drawers and shelves in the replacement appliance. After a few minutes, he turned to Remy, his face downcast. “There isn't any.”

“I bet there's sausage in the freezer.”

Josh tore through the freezer. “Found it!” he cried, grabbing a roll of pork sausage. “Hey, it's not in the little links, like we have at my mom's house.”

“No. You have to cut it into slices, like when you make sugar cookies in the roll.”

“Oh.” Josh looked at the rock-solid item in his hand. “This won't cut. Too hard.”