I heard from Ron Baptiste a whole lot sooner than I had anticipated. I placed an order of pine siding for the cabin’s additions, and had just wheeled the pickup out of the lumberyard parking lot when my cell phone vibrated. I wrestled it from the front pocket of my shorts as I braked to a stop, and managed to disconnect the call as I tried to answer it. I checked the missed call display. It was the number for the realty office. I was headed into town to pick up dog food, so I kept going. When I reached downtown Ansett, I pulled into the grocery store and called back. I got Ron’s receptionist. The eastern lilt in her speech was unmistakable.
“Oh, Mister Latta,” she said. “Thank you for calling. You have an outstanding account with us. I’m wondering when we can expect payment?”
“Better check with your boss. I paid it all in advance when I signed the contract.”
“Yes, sir. You paid for your vacation rental, sir, and thank you. I hope you enjoy it. But we represented you, and there’s an agent fee that needs to be taken care of. Can I tell Mister Baptiste you’ll drop by, or shall I mail the bill to you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Is Ron there? Can I speak to him?”
“Ron is gone to show properties today and tomorrow,” she replied. “But I have the papers here. If you could let me know when you’re coming, I can have everything ready. It will just take a few minutes of your time.”
I looked across the street at the black Cadillac parked under the balcony of the realty office. I shook my head.
“Okay, I’ll stop in and you can show them to me, Gita,” I said.
I hung up on her response. When there was a break in the crawling traffic, I crossed the street. I took the stairs to Ron’s office two at a time. Gita glanced up from her computer screen when I walked in. She clearly did not recognize me.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I just talked to you,” I said. “I’m here to see Ron, even though he’s not here.”
I pointed to the back, where Ron sat at his desk, talking on the phone and eating from a Styrofoam take-out container. Her eyes widened slightly, and her complexion darkened. He swivelled his chair to face away from me.
“Oh... he was just leaving for the afternoon,” she said.
“Well, he’s here now,” I said. “I’ll wait for him.”
I sat down and picked up a magazine, which I opened and did not look at. After a minute, Gita cleared her throat and spoke.
“Actually, I have the papers you need to take care of, Mister Latta. I can show them to you if you like.”
“Sure,” I said.
I leaned back in the chair, but remained sitting. After a pause, she brought a sheaf of papers to the waiting area. She handed the pages to me, and I glanced at them. The boilerplate identified Ron as an agent for the property owner, and indebted me to him for a finder’s fee, as well as a security deposit and monthly maintenance charge. Ron had not mentioned a word of any of it when I rented the trailer.
I had signed nothing prior, and I knew I could ignore the whole thing and walk out. The amount didn’t matter. I was disturbed by the underhanded method he was using, and suspected he did it whenever he could, alternating charm and outright bullying to force payment. I became more and more angry at the subterfuge.
Gita stood in front of my chair, increasingly uncomfortable as the seconds passed.
“Does everything look okay, sir?” she asked.
“We’re done,” I said, and looked away from her. “I’ll wait for your boss.”
She flickered helplessly for a moment, then returned to her desk. Her shoulders were slumped. I read over the papers in my hand, and regretted my meanness to her. I shifted in my chair and pulled out my wallet. I extracted a check, and scribbled it out in my lap. When I had signed it, I stood up and took it to her.
“I apologize,” I said. “This isn’t your doing. You must really need a job.”
I dropped the papers in front of her, and stepped around her desk. I called to the back of the room.
“Hey, Ron!”
He hung up the phone, and spun his chair slowly around to face me. His neat moustache stretched upward to expose his teeth in a grin. “Hey, buddy, what’s going on?” he asked softly.
“I’m not your buddy,” I said. My voice shook. “You have my money. I won’t do business with you again… be clear on that. Stay away from my island.”
His smile faltered, and returned wider. His large front teeth were very white against his tan. “Do you have a problem with paying your bills, Mike?”
“I have a problem with your methods, Ron. Just keep clear of me, got it?”
I turned and headed for the door.
“Seems to me you’ve got lots of problems,” he called. “I feel sorry for you.”
I turned back towards him, keeping my hands loose at my sides.
“Save it,” I said. “I know a lot more about your bullshit than you think I do. More than you guess, I guarantee it.”
His face reddened, and he stood up at his desk. When he spoke, his voice was strangled.
“Come over here! I want to talk to you!”
“Fuck off,” I said, and walked out.
He didn’t follow me, and I went downstairs and crossed the street to my truck. I drove to the marina and parked. Bill was crossing his lawn as I headed to my slip. I waved in his direction, but didn’t change my course. I didn’t want to talk. The morning sky had blackened and pledged heavy rain. I needed to get back to the island. The dog stood on the pier and balked at getting into the boat. When I pulled on the leash, her reluctance steadied into outright refusal. Stifling my irritation, I got back out and lifted her in.
The water was dirty gray gelatin as I headed from the marina into open water. The darkness over my head increased by the second, and the wind gusted cold. I opened the throttle as wide as it would go. The lake was empty of other boats. The deck throbbed underneath my feet, and the bow lifted up high. The dog huddled between the front seat and the console, uninterested in the passing shores. Rain sheeted the sky far in front of me, already deluging the eastern part of the lake. I drove the boat as if I was trying to outrun the storm, but in reality I was heading into it as fast as I could go.
In the middle part of the lake, the rain hit with a force that took my breath. I was quickly drenched, and peered through the windshield as I picked my way through curtains of rain. They changed direction, parted momentarily, then closed in again. The storm noise became deafening, and Aruba cowered miserably in what shelter she could find beside me. I was forced to ease my speed back as the surface broke up. The waves grew larger and began to spin and heave underneath my hull. In the passage between Duck and Long Duck the masses of water slammed the boat sideways, appearing from nowhere. I felt the first bite of fear.
I reached open water again, and the bulk of Echo Island suggested itself in the grayness in front of me. It came steadily closer and was defined; it appeared empty and unwelcoming. When I reached it, approach bordered on impossible. Every time I eased close to the dock, the surge threatened to take the boat into the rock pier. After several tries, I managed to slam the prow into the wood structure and tie it off.
I led a very wet dog to the cabin, and turned on the lights against the false dusk. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and rubbed her dry. When I had finished with a hot shower and tea for myself, I went to the door and looked out. In the shelter of the trees, the storm was less violent, but through their screen I could see the lake tossing. I would stay inside for the balance of the afternoon. I considered the woodstove; a fire was an appealing idea, but the cabin was too warm for it. I headed to the bookcase and took down Louise Trevethan’s journal. The island crowded me with something I couldn’t make sense of, and I still hoped her words might provide me with some clues.
I sat down with the book, and as I opened it, a thought came to me. I didn’t know if Louise was still alive or not. I had no idea if Angela had remained in touch with her aunt, but I had a sense the old woman might have some answers for me. She had abandoned the island and never returned, and I wanted to know why. Any contact would have to be made through Angela. It had been nearly three months since I had spoken to her, and I was uncertain of my welcome.
Thinking about her made me inexplicably hungry for the sound of her voice. I checked my phone display and predictably found no reception. I would have to go out to the dock, but heavy rain still pelted the window. When the storm abated, it would be time to call home.
***