Black Otter Bay Read Free Page B

expression, but his quiet, cautious steps became lunging splashes as he quickened his pace. Abby grabbed the trunk lid to look at the license plate, but all that registered was the fact that it was from Illinois. Then she was running, first down the road to put some distance between them, then into the woods just before the pickup truck rounded a veil of balsam trees and lurched into view.
    Charging through the tall grass, Abby hit the treeline at a dead run. She heard the man yell, calling for her to stop, but panic had temporarily taken over, and she dashed through the woods like a rabbit before the hounds.
    Running had always been a good tonic for Abby. She remembered family outings when, as a child, she’d raced her father through the woods, darting along winding forest pathways, the fresh air pounding through her lungs. And now, the harder she ran, the more her spirits lightened and her thinking cleared. She knew the man would never catch up to her in those waders. A grin spread across her face when she realized that if he stopped to take them off, well, he’d simply never see her again.
    Leaping boulders, skipping over exposed roots, she flew through the woods like a breeze through the treetops. She thought the pickup truck looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She’d be willing to bet it belonged to a local, though. Abby smirked with glee at the notion of someone from town asking the man from Illinois why he was wearing waders but not carrying a fishing pole.
    Soon she spotted Ben up ahead. She knew they’d dodged a dangerous situation and successfully made their escape. Feeling just a little smug, she ran hard to catch up to her little brother, to let him know they were both safe. It would be a while yet before she remembered their backpacks lying near the shore of Big Island Lake, just a dozen or so steps from the big, shiny Cadillac.

TWO
    Marcy Soderstrom
    â€œI can tell you right now why summer finally got here,” Red Tollefson stated from his seat at the counter in the Black Otter Bay Café. Red was a retired highway department foreman. He still carried his large frame with a confident, rolling swagger, even if he wasn’t as solid as he’d been in his working days. Thick waves of graying red hair covered his head, and he still boasted the barrel chest and gnarled, workingman’s hands common throughout the north country.
    Turning sideways on his stool, Red shuffled a deck of cards while glancing outside, as if to confirm that summer had indeed finally arrived. Owen Porter reset the cribbage pegs, patiently awaiting Red’s explanation. It was that quiet time of early afternoon when the lunch crowd had left but the regulars from the day shift at the taconite plant, in search of a cup of coffee and a card game, hadn’t arrived yet.
    Red squinted up at Owen, an extremely tall, lanky man perched uncomfortably atop his stool at the counter. Hunched over, Owen resembled a prehistoric insect, with his gangly limbs jutting out at odd angles. He was currently working afternoon shifts at the plant, so he’d be leaving soon for work.
    The wrinkles around Red’s eyes creased up with humor. He glanced across the counter to be sure Marcy was listening. “Summer finally got here because I wasted twenty bucks last Saturday tuning up my damn snowblower.”
    Owen suppressed a grin while drumming the fingers of one hand on the counter. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said. “Nobody tunes up a snowblower in May.”
    â€œHey, the way this winter was going, a fellow couldn’t be too sure.” As if suddenly realizing how ridiculous it sounded to be fixing a snowblower in May, Red shot a defensive frown at Marcy and added, “Anyway, at least it’s all ready for next year.”
    Marcy folded the newspaper she’d been reading and dropped it on the counter. Grabbing a dishrag out of the sink, she swiped