Connor had come to his family’s cabin on Meddybemps Lake to fish. The place was remote, and besides fishing, the only thing there was to do out there was nothing, which Connor also liked. After two hours of fighting smallmouth bass in his favorite cove, Connor hauled up the boat anchor and headed for the town dock. Every summer, the Harding family rented dock space from Mitch Skinner across the lake, and Conner would usually tie up there whenever he went to the mainland. That wasn’t the destination today. Connor was headed to Palmer’s Restaurant and Grocery for a late lunch, and the town dock was much closer to the restaurant than Mitch’s place.
Except for the two fishing boats Connor passed, the lake was deserted. Meddybemps Lake didn’t like boaters. It was full of rocks the size of Volkswagens that turned steel boat props into confetti. The lake froze to three feet every winter, and the melting ice moved even the giant rocks, so those boat crushers were not in the same place year after year. The only ones who trusted a boat on Meddybemps Lake were townies who had lived there long enough to know the areas to avoid. Connor wasn’t a townie, but his family had owned the cabin for close to a hundred years, and he’d been coming here since he could walk. The only thing that betrayed him as an outsider was his lack of a Down East accent.
Connor eased up to the town dock, tied off the lines, killed the engine, and stepped off the pontoon boat onto the weathered cedar planks. On one side of the dock were a boat launch and a small parking lot. On the other side was the Meddybemps Community Center, which served as a town meeting hall, event center, and post office. It was usually empty. Connor passed the building and walked the quarter-mile path along the lake edge until he arrived at Palmer’s.
Palmer’s Restaurant and Grocery was just that, part restaurant and part grocery. There were about 150 residents in Meddybemps and not much else. Aside from the chain grocery store in Calais, Maine, which was a good forty minutes away, Palmer’s was the only place to pick up ice, milk, bait, propane, and beer. It was also the place to find townies trading news and tales of fishing, logging, and anything else.
Connor stepped inside and found Jack Palmer, the owner, cook, bartender, waiter, and grocery clerk, reading a three-day-old newspaper.
“Jack.”
“Connor.” Jack looked up from his paper. “You shop’n or eat’n?”
“Came in for some clams, if you’ve got any left.”
Jack tossed the paper on the counter and walked into the restaurant side of the building. “Think I can scrounge something up fer ya.”
Connor followed Jack into the restaurant and went for his favorite booth, near the back next to the pool table.
A few minutes later, an older man wearing a black turtleneck and gray slacks walked in. His short white hair reflected the glare from the ceiling lights. When they locked eyes, the man approached and stood over Connor.
“You know I’m on vacation, right?” said Connor. “I come to Maine to get away from people.”
“I thought it was important we talk.”
Connor didn’t have to ask who the man was. He already knew. Little Freddie was a killer who worked for various Midwest crime families. He’d never met him, but his brother, Finn, had worked with him years ago, and he’d given Connor all the juicy details. The rumor was that Freddie had been a high school history teacher back in the day. At some point, he discovered a knack for killing people and changed careers. He was in high demand because he enjoyed his job. Killing is a gruesome business, and most of those who do it for a living don’t quite care for it. Freddie was different. He liked it. He looked forward to it the same way a nurse looks forward to delivering a newborn. That’s some crazy shit, but say what you want about Little Freddie, he was in the right line of work.
Little Freddie sat down without asking. “I can’t stress how important it is that you find the person sending those postcards.”
“You haven’t given me much to go on, but as I told your friend, it seems the murders were retaliation for something you did. I figure you already know who was behind it.”
“I’ve done a lot of bad things. Hurt more people than I can count. It could be anyone.”
Connor thought for a moment. “Why now?”
“What?”
“This happened twelve years ago. Why only start looking into this now?”
Little Freddie looked down at the table and then up at Connor. “I guess I thought there wasn’t enough evidence to go on. Now, I have twelve cards, twelve pieces of evidence. Hopefully, there’s enough there to help you.”
“Why not make things easier for me? Give me a list of the best candidates. You’ve got to have an idea. I need something to start with.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Look, here’s how this works. I’m going to help you as a favor to my brother, who obviously owes you something. I’ll look into it while I’m on vacation, but then I go back to my life. That means you only have a sliver of my time. Give me something to work with, and I can use that time to your advantage. Hold vital information from me, and I’ll spend that time spinning my wheels and you won’t get much.”
“I’m not holding information back. I honestly don’t know who it could be.”
Jack walked into the room and placed a glass of ice water and a basket of fried clams on the table.
Connor inhaled, taking in the scent of cayenne pepper. “Thanks, Jack. Looks perfect.”
Jack looked at Little Freddie. “Getcha a menu?”
“No,” said Connor. “He’s not staying.”
Little Freddie waited for Jack to leave before speaking again.
“Your brother said you were good with things like this.”
“I am good with things like this. But I’m no magician. If there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there.”
“There’s something there, and you better find it.” Little Freddie stood up. “You don’t want to owe me.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
“Your brother does.”
“Not my pig, not my farm.”
Little Freddie leaned against the table and came in close. “Come up empty, and you and your brother are going to have a problem.”
“I don’t know too much about you.” Connor popped a clam in his mouth. “But I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I know you’re not the most dangerous person in this room.”
“I hope we won’t have to find out.” He turned and walked toward the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Can’t wait,” said Connor, taking a napkin from the metal dispenser on the table.