With his three newly arrived guests seated on the motorbox and Rod Gills parked next to him in the co-pilot chair, Rusty slid the armbar into reverse and backed Hooked on Poutine out of her dockslip for their return trip to FSFO. He then backed into the middle of the channel of the Marina’s protected harbor and slid the shifter forward to begin idling their way down the bay.
Summer cabins filled the spaces on most of the western shoreline and Raker’s Marine consumed the eastern bank with their parking lot, fuel service, and seasonal dock rentals. It was now when Rusty glided past the gas docks at idle speed, looking out the starboard window, that he noticed what appeared to be a figure crouched behind the thousand-gallon gas tank.
“Hey Rod, look” Rusty summoned as he pointed towards the man hiding behind the cement barrier that provided a protective barrier around the gas tank.
“Look at what?” Rod replied, as it was too late and now the red ball cap with the Storm Sanitation logo had disappeared.
“It was that guy again!” Rusty said with intensity. But not enough to draw attention from the Pikeannoli brothers. “That guy that called himself SAM. The one that stopped twice at the camp asking about Oscar and Grover. The one that just about ran Sally and I over on the lake—the night of the storm—the same night that Clarence disappeared.”
“What should we do? Should we go after him?”
“You’re Stash McGivern’s sworn deputy… What do you think we should do?” responded Rusty.
Both men sat expressionless, each looking for the other to make a suggestion… And then simultaneously they blurted out, “Let’s wait for TAWNY.”
A half dozen miles from mainland and they were soon pulling into the friendly confines of FSFO (Flathers and Scales Fishy Outfitters). Link and Tawny were waiting at the end of the pier for the “meet and greet” with their new guests. Rusty could see that Stash and Marlin were occupying themselves with some less than enthusiastic raking of the beach. Cosmoid had the island six-wheeler and was hauling wood to the firepit.
“Yep, business as usual,” Rusty mouthed under his breath, watching everyone appear to be at work. And then witnessed Minister Nev Thorne race out of the peony bushes alongside the bath house with Celine hot on his tracks. She should have been getting dinner ready in the lodge, but by the looks of it there was some other culinary game heating up.
Thankfully, while Hooked on Poutine slid herself safely into shore, the Pikeannoli brothers remained seated and were no more the wise per the chase. Then, after securing the lines to the dock posts, Tawny approached the starboard gunnel—her effortless mannerisms captivating all who were present. She reached out a greeting hand to each guest and said, “Gentlemen, welcome to FSFO, I’m Tawny—Rusty’s wife.”
Rod Gills eyes were the size of slow-pitch softballs as there was an immediate crash in the pilot house of the charter boat. Rusty’s words were, “My wa-wa-wa-What?” as his left foot slid off the support bar and he collapsed to the floor unable to support himself under his teetering weight. Thankfully he only hit his head on the seat post of the co-pilot chair once he’d landed. No harm no foul—Rod sat motionless like a slug—jaw still hanging open after hearing what Tawny had had to say.
“Hey,” Tawny instructed to the bow area, “If you guys are done screwing around up there, (Rusty / Rod) get these fellas gear to their cabin and I’ll give them the grand tour of the camp. Supper is at six o’clock.” Then she raced ahead to catch up with Alvin, Cy, and Ted who were already on the dock and making their way up to shore.
When she caught up… It became obvious that Alvin was the group leader. “This trip is more for my brother Theodore. He loves to fish for dolphins. Do you catch quite a few of those around here?”
Ted’s response was zippo… He made every effort to avoid eye contact. And as Tawny explained that freshwater does not typically produce trophy dolphin action, it was Cy who lingered behind the group, often looking back over his shoulder, taking slow and predictable steps.
The trio, plus Tawny and Link then made their way up toward the grand lodge. Grand in that it was still standing. Grand in that someday Rusty dreamed it would be the envy of every lodge owner on Lac des Bois.
“Here on the deck, we have a freezer packed full of bagged ice—this fridge is full of canned pop, bottled juices, waters, just help yourselves whenever,” Tawny offered. Then she opened the main lodge door to provide a view of the dining hall, where Celine was now chasing Nev in circles around the larger 12-guest rectangular oak dining table.
“I’m going to make you a gooseberry pie!” she heard Celine shout. “As soon as I get done cooking your goose!”
Tawny quickly slammed the door closed. “Dinner is at 6:00pm gentlemen—why don’t we go check out your cabin—Pikeannoli? Now where exactly did you fellas say you were from?”
Rusty had just dropped the passenger bags off as instructed when Tawny showed up with the threesome. “Honey, did you get their luggage situated inside the cabin?” she asked.
“Bags….. Bags…..” Rusty’s tongue had swollen quicker than rice in boiling water and his throat was as dry as a saltine cracker basting in Madrid for the entire month of August. “Bags….. Bags…..” was all he could muster.
Tawny allowed the guests to enter the cabin first, and then as she and Rusty crossed paths in the door jamb, she gave him a high-left forearm shiver to his right pectoral muscle and gritted “get it together!”
When she exited the cabin and closed the door behind her, Rusty was still leaning against a nearby Jackpine tree, rubbing his chest. She didn’t bother to slow her pace as she marched right on by, continuing toward the lodge. Rod Gills attempted to slow her gate, but she blew his doors off before blowing open the door of the lodge.
“Celine! Where are you!” Tawny bolted through the dining room and into the kitchen looking for the spunky chef.
“Back… Back here.” It was Nev’s voice. Beyond the kitchen and into the rear of the building in which the employee lodging area had two separate bedrooms.
“You two! What’s the deal!” Tawny demanded.
“You have to believe me Ms. Bishop,” pleaded Neville. “I am in full command of my actions.”
“Full command?” Tawny replied. His hair appeared as though it had been parted with an eggbeater and Celine had her chef’s shirt on backward. “You TWO! Get it together. Right now!” And then she exited the lodge and returned to face Rusty who was now parked in a chair next to the firepit on the beach.
Telling someone with extremely high anxiety to calm down is never a great idea. It actually works quite the opposite. And when Tawny approached Rusty on the beach, she could see the electrodes in his brain short circuiting.
“Might as well push the proverbial envelope,” she thought to herself and plopped down on Rusty’s knee, throwing her arm around his shoulder and resting her head against his.
“Now honey,” she began, as Rusty’s face was turning thirteen shades of red. “We need to act like the happiest of camp couples for our new guests, eh.” And then she purred into his ear, “If these three goons are legit, Welcome to Saugerville—where the only thrill you’re going to get is reeling in a wet tube sock. But we both know I’m way sexier than that!
Speechlessness had consumed Rusty. Along with a stream of perspiration that rivaled a bathroom shower set on pulsate mode.
“Now, don’t you worry your pretty brown curls,” she continued as she threw a leg over his, facing him head on and straddling him like a bronco buster. “I’m going to dangle a hook, just like Uncle Clarence taught me, and we’re going to see what bites.”
Then, without hesitation, she wetted her lips and planted a kisser dead on his face. “So, get it together Flathers.” Then she jumped from her position and briskly walked away, leaving Rusty Flathers in a state of emotional exhaustion. So much so… He forgot to share his info about SAM: Storm Sanitation guy—becoming more worried that he himself was going to be part of the bait!
–To Be Continued—
Rusty Flathers 