FIVE

Nina claimed she had more work to do. I told her I was going to wander down by the lake while she did it. We agreed to meet near the patio at seven o’clock.

“I want to get a good seat for the sunset,” she said.

I took my own sweet time crossing the clearing as I made my way toward Lake Anpetuwi, examining the grounds, fixing the location of the cabins and the parking lot and the barn and all that empty space between them in relationship to the castle in my head; imagining scenarios that involved silent, invisible killers.

Like ninjas, my inner voice said.

In real life, ninjas weren’t all that impressive, I reminded myself. They’re recognized as nearly mythological beings solely because of the movies, the same as Japanese samurai and Wild West gunfighters.

Uh-huh.

I leaned against the top rung of the wooden fence at the edge of the bank where the ground tilted down toward the lake, once again scrutinizing the area where Mr. Doty found the ladder. Someone had to put it there; thrown it like I had done. Who? Why? Questions without answers. I stared at Tess Redding’s balcony while I asked them.

There’s probably an embarrassingly logical explanation.

Probably, I told myself. I just wished I knew what it was.

Let it go, McKenzie.

Eventually, I wandered along the bank to the concrete steps that led down to the L-shaped dock. There were a number of kayaks and a couple of canoes tethered to it. There were also spaces for a paddleboat and a couple of fishing boats with motors, only those were being used by guests.

At the end of the dock were a couple of wooden benches that had been bolted to the deck. I sat on one of them and looked out at the calm, sun-dappled lake. It was much longer than it was wide; at least three miles by a half mile, I estimated. And quiet. In the distance I heard the murmur of a boat motor, yet that quickly faded away.

I could get used to this, I told myself—for about a week. Then I would start bouncing off the birch trees. Truth is I wasn’t cut out for the lake life, or rural life, or any kind of life outside the city. I once owned a lake home about a hundred miles from the Canadian border. I loved going up there, yet not as much as I loved coming back. As idyllic and peaceful as it was, I always felt as if I was missing something back home. A ball game or a concert or art exhibit or new restaurant. Something. Still, I enjoyed the momentary pleasure of a soft breeze ruffling my hair and the warm sun caressing my face. I closed my eyes and embraced the silence.

It didn’t last long.

The loud guttural sound of a horn started echoing across the water.

My eyes snapped open.

“What the hell?” I said.

“Haven’t you heard that before?”

I spun off the bench and turned toward the unexpected voice.

Eden Redding was on the dock and walking toward me.

“Miss Redding,” I said. “You startled me.”

“Not as much as that, I bet.” She waved toward the lake. “The first time I heard it, I thought the end of the world was coming which, I guess, was the point.”

The horn kept blaring.

“It reminds me of the horn they sound at Vikings football games whenever the team scores,” I said. “Only multiplied by a hundred.”

“It’s called the Gjallarhorn, meaning resounding horn. Supposedly, the sentry that guards Asgard, the home of the Norse gods…”

“Odin, Thor…”

“Yes, yes. The sentry carries the Gjallarhorn and when the giants attack, signaling the beginning of the final battle when all of the cosmos will be destroyed, he’s supposed to let out a blast from the horn to warn the gods, and all of humanity, really, that they’re about to become extinct. These guys”—she gestured at the lake—“use it to tell their followers that dinner is served.”

The horn ceased bellowing.

“These guys?” I asked.

“The Sons of Europa.”

“The Sons of Europa have a place on the lake?”

Eden pointed.

“Just over—do you see where the stand of white birch trees is leaning over the water?” she asked. “They moved in—I want to say a year ago. The woman who sold the property to them didn’t know she was dealing with the Sons, though. She thought she was just selling to some guy. It didn’t become a big deal until the Sons tried to get the zoning law changed to turn the place into a church. Then it became a very big deal.”

“I heard about that,” I said.

“Tess, for one, was livid. I had never seen her so angry. Heck, I’ve never seen her angry at all. Not in all the years I’ve been married to Alex, except for maybe that one time when Carly—never mind that.”

“What did she do?” I asked. “Tess, I mean.”

“She organized resistance.”

RAH?”

RAH, RAH, RAH—you have to admit it makes for a nice chant. I was so proud of her. What was most fun is that she actually called me for advice. Me. I nearly dropped the phone. I don’t think she was protesting against the Sons because she hated white supremacists so much as she wanted to keep them off her lake, still…”

“Tess foiled the Sons of Europa?”

“It wasn’t just her but she was one of the ringleaders; the Redding name carries a lot of weight around here. She started a petition, collected letters from just about everyone who owned a place on the lake that she personally delivered to the city council, and she helped rally the townspeople. They held meetings on the patio. ’Course, this was before COVID.”

“I bet that really upset the Sons,” I said.

“Their argument was that the Redding Castle already existed on the lake as a hotel and restaurant so refusing their rezoning request amounted to discrimination against their church. Besides, they pointed out that federal courts have already ruled that you can’t use zoning laws to zone out a religion. RAH, on the other hand, argued that there were laws on the books that make it illegal for any institution that proposes to exclude people on account of race to run an operation in the State of Minnesota. It looked like Redding and the Sons and were heading toward a very long, very contentious legal standoff.

“The city council, at the urging of its lawyers, found a way around it, though. They ruled that the castle had already existed as a hotel and restaurant before the City of Redding zoning laws were enacted, which allowed the castle to be grandfathered in, yet at the same time did not obligate the city to consider other zoning requests. And they argued that various covenants and other legal instruments specifically attached to the lake forbid what they called ‘significant conflict activities’ such as group gatherings, excessive parking demands, storage areas, and I don’t know what else; there’s like a dozen items listed. If the Sons decided to build their church in a different location within the City of Redding, the council said it would consider their petition when it was presented; so not actually forbidding their religion. I expected them to appeal only the Sons haven’t yet. It’s a small church. Maybe they don’t have the money.”

I pivoted toward the castle; gazed up at its turrets and steep gables and countless windows while letting Eden’s remarks sink in. She seemed to know what I was thinking yet waited for me to speak.

“What’ll happen if the castle is sold?” I asked. “I heard talk that a developer might tear it down and build a condominium-slash-entertainment center. Wouldn’t the city council need to change the laws to allow for that?”

“I suppose.”

“If the city changes the rezoning laws for the development, then it probably would be forced to accommodate the church.”

“There’s a downside to everything.” Eden Redding moved to where a canoe was tied to the dock. “Do you want to see?”

“See what?”

Eden pulled the canoe until its hull was flush against the dock.

“The face of the enemy,” she said. “C’mon. Get in. You take the back.”

“I thought you were having tea with the little capitalist.”

I climbed into the back of the canoe and settled on the seat. Eden climbed into the front and untied us.

“Don’t think I don’t love my niece because I do,” she said. “I love her to death. Only you can tell she’s a branch on the old John Redding oak tree. Besides, she and Alex are both speaking Redding now. It’s a language that outsiders have difficulty grasping.”

Eden pushed us away from the dock. I grabbed a paddle off the floor of the canoe and dipped it into the water. Eden took hold of the second paddle and did the same.

“I don’t know anything about John Redding,” I said.

“You haven’t read the book?”

“Not yet.”

We both pulled from the right side of the boat until I switched to the left to keep it moving in a straight line. When I did, droplets of water flew off the blade and showered the back of Eden’s peasant shirt.

“You do know how to paddle a canoe, don’t you?” she asked.

“I’ll try to do better, miss.”

I heard her chuckling.

“Good boy,” she said. “Do you know who Horatio Alger is?”

“No, but I’ve heard the name.”

“He was a hugely successful writer of young adult novels during the end of the nineteenth century. All of his books were about impoverished boys who rose from humble beginnings to greatness through good deeds and hard work.”

“Is John a Horatio Alger story?”

“I think John’s life was the template for all of the stories. Read the book.”

I paddled; Eden navigated. Instead of cutting directly across the lake toward the Sons’ place, we hugged the shoreline so she could show me the houses that had been built there. Some were old, some were new, most were large, and all of them looked expensive, although taken as a whole they paled in comparison to Redding Castle.

“It’s kind of like an oasis,” Eden said. “The lake and the forest, both surrounded on all sides by flat farm country. It’s what makes it prime real estate. ’Course, over half of the people who live on the lake don’t actually live on the lake. It’s mostly summer homes, vacation homes for people living in the Cities. At least it used to be. See that house?”

Eden pointed at a large white structure with six pillars holding up a front porch that reminded me of a Southern plantation.

“It’s owned by the executive vice-president of an investment bank,” she said. “He used to come down here maybe a dozen times a year, if that. Now he lives here, at least for the time being. He started running his business from a guest room when COVID closed his offices and decided he liked it. Same with the woman next door. She’s a Minnesota girl who managed the marketing department of a cosmetics company located in Atlanta, Georgia. When COVID hit, she moved back up here with her husband and kids; her family owns the house. Now she’s running her department remotely; won’t even consider returning to Atlanta. Not only that—I know her. She eats at the restaurant at least once a week. Last time I was here, she told me that the president of her company lives in New York and the head of the creative department lives in Sweden. How’s that for working remotely?

“A lot of businesses started working that way during the virus. Now that it’s behind us, sorta, many of them are making it permanent. They discovered that productivity actually increases when people work from their homes, who knew? Plus, it helps them reduce overhead; why pay high rents for office towers if you don’t need them? The Target Corporation moved thirty-five hundred of its employees out of downtown Minneapolis last spring; how many other businesses have followed their lead since then? Which reduces travel time to and from offices, which reduces traffic congestion, which reduces pollution from cars and trucks—all good. Plus, remote work is starting to stimulate small towns and suburbs. They had been losing population because there were no jobs; because it was so hard to make a living out here. But now if you can work for 3M or Medtronic or General Mills or Cargill or Muehlenhaus and still live in Redding, why wouldn’t you?”

“All of which makes transforming Redding Castle into luxury condominiums that much more attractive,” I said. “That much more lucrative.”

“The world is evolving.”

“Capitalism at work.”

Eden spun in her seat and glared at me. For a moment I thought she might try to whack me with the canoe paddle. Instead, she frowned and spun back.

“What pisses me off, is it’s also allowing big business to drive wages down, too,” she said. “Why pay a guy $200,000 to move to San Francisco when you can get away with paying half that if he works from Boise, Idaho?”

We paddled another quarter mile in silence. It was Eden who broke it.

“Anpetuwi,” she said. “It’s from the Dakota. Anpetu means daytime. Wi means sun.”

“Daytime sun,” I said just to prove that I was listening.

“Have you ever seen Lake Anpetuwi from the sky?”

“No.”

“I have. It looks like a giant exclamation point, long and narrow with a small bay at the end that looks like a dot. The castle is located in the center of the dot. The great thing, though—the lake runs almost exactly east to west. The sun rises directly behind the castle and it sets directly in front of it and when the sunlight reflects off the lake, especially when it’s calm, it’s like fire rolling across the water until it reaches the castle.”

“I saw it last night,” I said.

“Spectacular.”

“Yes.”

“There. That’s the headquarters for the Sons of Europa.”

We were paddling past a stand of birch trees that were, in fact, leaning precariously over the lake. On the other side of them was a large, sprawling structure that looked less like a church than a two-story ranch house painted the color of the sky. The huge lawn surrounding it was expertly mowed and, unlike Redding Castle’s, it rolled right up to the shoreline.

In front of the house was a gray polyethylene dock.

There was a man standing on the dock dressed in a white T-shirt and blue jeans. I placed him at about thirty.

He was cradling a lightweight AR-15 semiautomatic assault rifle.

“Heimdall,” Eden said.

“His name is Heimdall?”

“Heimdall is the name of the sentry who guards Asgard; the one who’s supposed to blow Gjallarhorn when all hell comes a knockin’. There’s another one in the back standing guard where the driveway joins the road that circles the lake. Imagine taking a drive or a hike around the lake and coming across a guy with a machine gun.”

We were about thirty yards from shore as we slid past Heimdall in the canoe. He watched us intently as if he half expected us to storm the beach. Eden called to him.

“Beautiful day, wouldn’t you agree?” she said. “Perfect for a lynching.”

Heimdall replied by gripping the AR more tightly.

Really, Eden? my inner voice asked. Really?

“Or maybe a cross burning later,” she added.

I began to paddle faster.

Heimdall shouted at me.

“Hey, asshole,” he said. “Better control your woman.”

By her laugh, I guessed that Eden would have liked to see me try.

“You wouldn’t know a real woman if she sat on your face,” she said.

Heimdall didn’t seem to have a reply for that.

I kept paddling, putting the dock behind us. Eden had to spin in her seat to look back at Heimdall.

“Does your mother know you’re a racist prick?” she asked.

I was staring straight ahead so I didn’t see his reaction, yet it was enough to make Eden laugh some more.

“Is that your IQ or the size of your dick?” she asked.

I continued to paddle, keeping the canoe in a straight line as we put more distance between us and the gunman on the dock. Even so, I half expected to feel the hard punch of a round as it tore into my back. Again.

We had paddled a good one hundred yards before I glanced behind me. The gunman was still watching us. I was surprised by how fast and shallow my breathing had become.

When did stuff like this start bothering you? my inner voice asked.

As if it didn’t know.

I spoke aloud.

“Really, Eden?” I said. “Really?”

“You can’t let people like him bully you. I don’t care if he has a gun. That’s just for show, anyway. He’s just trying to frighten us; keep us in our place.”

“I get that.”

“He wants people to cower in fear before the mighty Sons of Europa.”

“You think so?”

“I won’t do it. You have to stand up for what’s right. Always.”

“Eden?”

“What?”

“You’re starting to grow on me.”

She thought that was funny, too.


We spun the canoe around and, ignoring the shoreline, paddled in a straight line back to the dock in front of Redding Castle. As we approached I could see Nina sitting on the concrete steps. She was wearing a bright yellow summer dress with spaghetti straps and a skirt that ended inches above her knees. I really liked that dress.

She rose from the steps and met us on the dock as we tied up.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi, yourself.”

Eden and I scrambled out of the canoe. I offered her my hand, but Eden ignored it.

“That was fun, McKenzie,” she said. “We’ll have to do it again.”

“Sure.” I gestured at Nina. “This is my wife, Nina Truhler. Nina, this is Eden Redding.”

“Jen’s aunt,” Nina said. She offered her hand and Eden shook it. “A pleasure.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, ma’am,” Eden said, emphasis on the “ma’am.” “But I can’t linger. I need to find Alex. I hope I get a chance to visit with you later.”

Eden maneuvered past us on the dock and headed up the concrete stairs. Nina spoke quietly to me.

“Ma’am?” she asked.

I explained.

“Not the first time I’ve had to pay for your crimes,” Nina said.

“I like her, though. Very much the militant liberal, always ready and willing to take a stand against racism, capitalism…”

“Do you think she’ll vote to sell the castle to developers?”

“Oh, in a heartbeat.”


I took Nina’s hand and we climbed the concrete steps toward the castle. I didn’t used to be a hand-holder; public displays of affection always embarrassed me a little, especially my own. Lately, though, I’ve discovered that my attitudes have been shifting. I blamed it on the pandemic.

We were two-thirds of the way up the stairs when Nina called, “Dibs.”

“What?”

“I’ve checked it out,” she said. “I think where we are standing now is the absolute perfect place to watch the sunset. Only it’ll start going down in about fifteen minutes by my watch so you’ll need to hurry.”

“Where am I going?”

“To the bar. I need wine. Wine, I say. Something white and German. A Riesling or a Pinot Gris. Anything as long as it’s not a Liebfraumilch.”

“Coming right up.”

I started climbing the remainder of the stairs.

“McKenzie.”

I turned back.

“I’ll drink a Liebfraumilch if that’s all they have,” Nina said.

I walked up the stairs to the bank, across to the patio and through the huge open doorway into the dining room. There was a small queue in front of the bar; a few customers wore masks, most did not. The bartender was masked though, so I put mine on out of simple courtesy.

When my turn came, I ordered a Summit EPA and “Whatever you have that’s white and German.”

The bartender poured what he called “A Silvaner.”

“Some people call it Dracula wine,” he said. “That’s because it’s very old, very pale, and is ruined when exposed to bright sunlight for too long.”

The story bought him a nice tip, which was probably why he told it.

I turned and was making my way back to the patio when I was intercepted by Olivia Redding.

“I know you,” she said. “You’re here with Nina Truhler.”

“Ms. Redding,” I said.

She had changed her clothes. Gone were the tight T-shirt, jeans, and boots, replaced by a loose-fitting blouse with all the colors of autumn, a rust-colored skirt that reached to her ankles, and a matching shawl. Instead of a ponytail, her hair now fell around her shoulders. She still looked good, don’t get me wrong. She also looked her age, though, and I wondered why.

Because she’s not trying to impress you, my inner voice suggested.

“I saw you in town today,” Olivia said.

“Oh? Why didn’t you say hello?”

“I was with a friend.”

“Did you grow up in Redding?”

“Goodness, no. I have never lived here. Ben and I met when he was playing football for the University of Minnesota. I was a cheerleader.”

She said it with such pride that I felt compelled to stroke her ego; maybe earn a few brownie points.

“At the risk of sounding sexist,” I said, “I think you could still dance with the U’s Spirit Squad.”

“What a charmer you are. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“McKenzie.”

“McKenzie, I noticed you were walking with Redding’s police chief,” Olivia said.

“Chief Gardner and I are old friends.”

“Were you a police officer, too?”

“Yes.”

“But not anymore?”

“I retired a few years ago.”

“You’re far too young to be retired.”

“Now who’s being charming?” I asked.

Olivia smiled for a moment, but then her mouth turned serious.

“I thought you might be talking to that woman…”

That woman?

“About Jenny’s ridiculous and terrible and, quite frankly, extremely insulting theories about what happened to Tess,” she said.

“Insulting?”

“She’s accusing someone in her own family; her aunts, her uncles, my husband, even her own mother of murdering her grandmother. Wouldn’t you find that insulting?”

“I haven’t heard her actually accuse anyone,” I said.

“Who else would have done it?”

If Tess was murdered”—I emphasized the “if”—“there are any number of suspects.”

“Like who, for example?”

“I’ve just learned that the Sons of Europa had reason to kill her.”

“That’s silly.”

“Then there are the developers who had been planning to tear down the castle. They must have been pretty upset when Tess changed her mind about selling.”

Olivia raised her voice sharply.

“That’s outrageous,” she said.

People who had ignored our presence before now had a sudden interest in who we were and what we were doing. That didn’t slow her down, though.

“How dare you say such a thing?” Olivia wanted to know.

“Just thinking out loud.”

She leaned close to me. Her voice became a low hiss.

“Do everyone a favor, McKenzie. Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Olivia brushed past me and went to the bar. There were people still waiting in line, only she chose to ignore them.

“Amaretto,” she said. “One ice cube.”

“Mrs. Redding.” The bartender spoke her name as if he was explaining why he was serving Olivia before his other customers. “Yes, ma’am.”

Amaretto, one of the sweetest liqueurs I’ve ever come across, I told myself.

Now there’s an angry drink, my inner voice said. What does she pour when she’s really pissed off? Mountain Dew?

That’s not the point.

What’s the point?

She’s barely annoyed when her own family is accused of murder yet goes off the rails when someone points a finger at developers? What’s that about?


I returned to Nina. She was sitting on the concrete step where I had left her; hugging her legs against her body, her chin resting on her knees. I offered her the long-stem glass.

“Your Dracula wine,” I told her.

“My what?”

I explained as I removed my mask and stuffed it in my pocket.

Nina swirled the wine in her glass.

“I’ve never heard of that before,” she said. “I wonder if I can do something with it; promote it on my drink menu. What do you think?”

I gave her my best Bela Lugosi impersonation—“I never drink … wine.”

Nina stared at me for a few beats.

“I don’t get it,” she said.

“It’s a line from the movie Dracula.”

“Is that all you do when I’m not home, watch old movies and TV shows?”

“Sometimes I do favors for my wife’s friends.”

“Yeah, I deserved that.”

“Speaking of which…”

I told Nina about my excursion with Eden Redding followed by my brief conversation with Olivia Redding.

“Huh,” she said.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“No one likes developers.”

“Except developers and those who profit by them.”

“Huh,” she said again.

We sipped our drinks in silence until the bottom of the sun seemed to touch the top of the trees on the far side of Lake Anpetuwi. There was an explosion of light as the rays caromed off the calm water like it was a mirror, catching the breath of nearly everyone on the patio. The lake stopped reflecting the light, though, as the sun sank lower. Instead, it seemed to absorb it and then send it rolling down its length like a tsunami. I found myself fighting the urge to leap out of the way as the orange light funneled toward us, finally crashing against the shoreline and climbing the bank to the patio. It danced over us and around us until the top of the sun dipped below the trees and the light disappeared as if someone had slowly closed a dimmer switch.

Guests applauded.

Someone said, “Damn!”

Nina said, “I wonder what it’s like to actually be on the lake when that happens.”

“You might not see it when you’re on the lake,” I said. “Too close to the water.”

“The people living in the houses on the two sides of the lake; they’re not facing east or west. Do they see the same sunset that we do?”

“I don’t know.”

A heavy voice seemed to come from directly above us.

“They don’t,” it said.

I glanced upward. Big Ben Redding was standing on the staircase behind us, a drink in his hand, appearing from where I was sitting like one of those giants that Asgard seemed to be so terrified of. I stood so that my head reached his belt buckle.

“I grew up here,” he said. “When I was a kid we explored all around the lake; there were only a few houses back then. And no, they can’t see the sunset. Not the way we do. Ol’ John Redding picked his spot very well. I’m Ben Redding, by the way.”

“I’m McKenzie. This is my wife, Nina Truhler.”

Nina was standing, too, and Ben leaned down toward her and offered his hand. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle as they met her blue eyes.

“My pleasure,” he said.

Watch it, pal.

Nina shook his hand.

“A civilized gesture,” Ben said. “So much better than waving or knocking fists and elbows, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Nina said.

I noticed Big Ben didn’t offer to shake hands with me.

“My wife said you were here,” he said. “Rickie’s, right?”

“Yes.”

Ben toasted her with the squat glass that he was sipping from and smiled. He never seemed to stop smiling.

“I love your club,” he said.

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“Tell me you’re doing all right during these difficult days.”

“So far, so good,” Nina said.

“I’m so happy to hear that, although I was wondering if things might not take a turn for the worse now that flu season is approaching. All the news media outlets seem to have different theories depending on their political affiliations.”

“What do you do, Ben?” I asked. “Now that you’re no longer playing football for the Gophers.”

Big Ben chuckled.

“I rarely meet anyone who remembers me as number eighty-eight these days,” he said.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I knew only because Olivia Redding told me.

“Besides, my niece Madison is the family’s sports hero now.” Ben took a sip of his drink. “A much better athlete than I ever was. You know, I was on the last team to play in the old Brick House. Memorial Stadium. Junior year they moved us off campus to the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in downtown Minneapolis. God, I hated that place. Artificial turf; everything artificial. Do you want to find a place to sit? Looking up at me and me looking down, that’s not very comfortable, is it?”

Instead of going up to the patio, though, we went down to the dock, perching on the benches at the far end of it. The soft jazz played from the speakers on the patio seemed to sound much clearer down there. The moon and stars had yet to make an appearance and Ben gazed out at the darkness as if he were remembering something.

“So, what do you do now, Ben?” Nina asked.

“I’m almost embarrassed to say.”

“Why?”

“Because so many people suffered terribly during the pandemic, businesses closing, yet we did great. My wife and I own Ben’s Beez Honey.”

“That’s you?”

“That’s us.”

“I use your honey in my kitchen.”

Ben raised his glass to her again.

“Another reason I hope Rickie’s continues to do well,” he said. “That’s our market niche. A workhorse honey to be mixed with other ingredients. You’d hate to use the expensive, raw, super-special local stuff if people aren’t going to taste it, right?”

“Exactly.”

“How did you get into the honey business?” I asked.

“Almost by accident. What happened—I was drafted by the Buffalo Bills in ’83. I won’t tell you which round except to say it was in the double digits. Kay Stephenson was the new head coach. He didn’t even know my name. Bob Zeman was the new defensive coordinator and linebackers coach. He kept calling me Reardon.”

Big Ben Redding laughed as if it was all a wonderful joke, yet I couldn’t imagine him thinking so at the time. He seemed to read my mind because he added, “It was a lot of fun while it lasted, but I didn’t belong there. I knew that after the third day even though it took my coaches a couple of preseason games to figure it out. I just didn’t have the speed you need to play at that level. Anyway, after I was cut, I came back home to Redding and looked around and asked myself, ‘Now what?’

“It turns out that playing football in college doesn’t prepare you to do much except play football in college; my degree was in communications and I hardly ever went to class. Then I thought—the one thing I enjoyed besides playing football was beekeeping. My sister Anna and I had built and maintained some colonies in a clearing in the woods behind the castle when we were kids. We had done pretty well, too. The year before I went to the U, we produced a little over one hundred and twenty pounds of honey. I won’t bore you with the math, dry ounces versus fluid, but that came down to exactly one hundred and sixty-three eight-ounce jars; see, I remember the number. One hundred sixty-three jars of Redding Castle Honey that we sold for a buck fifty each mostly in the castle, but also at a couple of stores in Redding, too. You need to remember, back in those days a loaf of bread cost fifty cents, a pound of hamburger was a buck. You could buy a sixteen-ounce bottle of Coke out of a vending machine for a quarter. So, big money as far as me and Annie were concerned. I think our profit after expenses was about two hundred dollars. Woo-hoo!”

Ben started laughing again.

“How many pounds do you produce now?” I asked.

“Eight hundred and fifty thousand. ’Course, it’s not all single origin. We own only about sixty-five hundred hives. We source most of our honey from beekeepers in North and South Dakota and also Montana, California, Minnesota, of course. We have a facility in Burnsville, just south of Minneapolis. I tell people that we employee 325 million honeybees.

“But that’s what I mean by being a little embarrassed. Demand for honey is going up, pandemic be damned, partly because consumers recognize it as a healthy substitute for sugar and they don’t mind paying a higher price for it. We, Americans I mean, consume an average of two pounds of honey per person each year. Last year Ben’s Beez set a record; we moved over one-point-one million units.”

“At a dollar fifty each?” I asked.

Ben laughed some more; he seemed like a happy fellow.

“We do a little bit better than that now,” he said.

“Your plant is in Burnsville,” I said. “Not Redding?”

Ben laughed again.

“Have you met my wife?” he asked. “Livy wouldn’t be caught dead living in Redding. See what I did there? Dead? Living? Oh, by the way, don’t ever call her Livy to her face unless you can take a punch.”

Ben rubbed his chin as if he had.

“Your wife wants to sell Redding Castle,” I said.

“Who told you that?”

“Jenness.”

“There are a lot of things that Olivia wants that she doesn’t get. Jenny worries too much.”

“Can I tell her you said that?”

“Now, now, now, McKenzie. You’re not asking me to divulge how I’m going to vote, are you? I might be an old, beat-up football player who’s had his bell rung once too often, but I’m not foolish enough to make a commitment before I hear what the developers have to say.”

“I don’t know about old and beat-up, Ben. You look like you could still play.”

“Now you’re just sucking up. But I like it, McKenzie. I like it.”


We chitchatted for a bit longer. After a few minutes Big Ben glanced at his watch and excused himself.

“Better go find Olivia before she decides to find me,” he said.

By the time he left, the night sky was filled with stars and the castle’s lights were blazing in competition. It was easy to watch him climb the steps to the patio.

Nina lowered her voice so that only I could hear it.

“What you told me before, about seeing Ben outside the Riverboat Hotel in Redding—do you think he’s cheating on his wife?”

“Time and experience has taught me not to jump to conclusions, even the most obvious ones,” I said.

“Do you think he’ll support Jenness just to infuriate Olivia?”

“Not necessarily. On the other hand, I don’t think he’ll vote against Jenness just to please her, either.”

We crossed the length of the dock and started climbing the concrete staircase toward the patio and the music while we talked it over in hushed voices.

“I think Big Ben will vote against selling the castle,” Nina said, “Carly is all for it; Jenness’s mom will side with her and Eden—do you really think she’d sell?”

“If there’s enough money on the table, yes, she’ll turn capitalist, too, and argue how she’s doing a favor for the environment and small towns and whatever. Seeing the way that she and her husband were together, I have to believe that Alex will vote whichever way she wants.”

“According to my math, that’s two to two.”

“Leaving Anna Redding as the deciding vote.”

“When is she supposed to arrive?”

I didn’t have time to answer. We had reached the top of the staircase and I could hear Jenness Crawford calling to us.

“There you are,” she said.

Jenness crossed the patio and took me by my wrist.

“Did you really paddle a canoe past the Sons of Europa?” she asked. “Did you really call them names?”

“Your aunt—”

“Eden told me what happened. She was laughing.”

“At the Sons or me?” I asked.

“Both. Why would she do that?”

“From what little I know of her, I’d say she’s not the kind of woman who likes to leave well enough alone.”

“Dammit. I have enough problems without antagonizing the Sons. What next? Oh. Aunt Olivia said she saw you in town. She says you were walking with the chief of police.”

“Deidre Gardner,” I said. “Turns out we’re old friends.”

Jenness tightened her grip on my wrist and led me off the patio into the dark shadows surrounding it. Nina followed behind.

“What did she say?” Jenness asked.

I repeated everything that the chief and Dr. Evers had told me; I said I trusted their findings

“But the ladder,” Jenness insisted.

“I don’t have an explanation for that, yet.”

“So, there’s still a chance…”

“Jen, the day that your grandmother died, was any member of your family actually here; anyone besides you staying in the castle?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Jenness hung her head and sighed. “I know, I know, I know,” she said. “I suppose I should be glad that no one in my family is a murderer.”

“I would be,” Nina said.

“It’s just that I heard that criminals aren’t allowed to profit from their crimes.”

“That’s not quite how the law works,” I said.

“And I thought … I’m grasping at straws, aren’t I?”

So, my inner voice said, you’re a straw now?

“I just want to save the castle so badly.”

“I don’t think this is the way,” I said.

Jenness raised her head and grinned at Nina.

“I remember when I worked at Rickie’s and all I had to worry about was making you happy,” she said. “I thought that was hard. I had no idea.”

Jenness spun around and headed back toward the patio. She called to us over her shoulder.

“Thanks, guys,” she said. “We’ll talk some more after I figure out what I’m going to do.”

“Wait,” Nina said. “Are you saying I’m hard to work for?”

Jenness didn’t reply, but I was sure I could hear muffled laughter.

“I’m not hard to work for,” Nina told me. “I might be—demanding, but I’m fair. Don’t you think?”

“Thursday,” I said.

“What?”

“Anna Redding is supposed to arrive Thursday.”