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CHLOE & COPPER

1 For those of you who read Death and a Few Days Off (thank you) and wondered why Chloe ended up in the trunk of a Dodge Intrepid, I have answered that question. Chloe & Copper is not a short story. These are new scenes that weren't included in the original novel, because Death and a Few Days Off is more Jake's story than Chloe's. Think of these scenes as bonus material, like you'd find on a new release Blu-Ray. If you haven’t read the novel, I encourage you to do so before you read Chloe & Copper as these scenes do contain spoilers. The following pages pick up a few minutes after the conclusion of the novel.

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3 Copyright 2018 Kevin Lamport. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

4 Part 1 Chloe arrived in Sioux River with almost nothing. As it turned out, she didn't need much. Her day to day outfit wasn’t any more complicated than jeans and a Tundra Air golf shirt.

5 Over the course of the season, Lawrence gave her several shirts. He called them “uniforms” and tacked the cost onto his guests’ bills, people he referred to seemingly without awareness to the derogatory connotations as, You-Alls. Shopping wasn’t much in the little town, so other than a few odds and ends and the clothes she bought before they fled Chicago, it didn’t take her long to pack. Jake took longer and for once, she ended up waiting for him, sitting on the sofa in the lodge with her feet up on the coffee table, looping his car keys around her index finger with discordant jangles. When the Mustang’s small trunk was loaded, Jake drove out of the parking lot and then idled slowly along the pot-holed road toward the highway. Chloe didn’t look over her shoulder with nostalgia. Usually, a person remembers the high points of a given time period while the low points become thin and less significant. Sometimes though, it happens the other way. She

6 wondered how her future memories would play out. Hopefully the horror of the previous week would not footnote what had been an enjoyable summer filled with unexpected firsts—watching the northern lights pulse green from one horizon to the other, boat rides across lonely empty lakes without another soul in sight, the terror and excitement of taking off and landing on the water in an airplane for the first time, meeting Jake… Time would tell. They hit the asphalt and turned south with the weight of several unspoken conversations pressing down on her like a black and bloated thunderstorm. She had a dozen questions about Jake’s new job, she wanted to discuss what they’d do when they arrived in Florida and most of all, she wanted to put a period on the end of a story that began a couple of days before Jake rescued her from the Intrepid.

7 She fidgeted in her seat and cut him two or three long pointed glances but as much as she wanted to talk, Jake seemed happy to drive in silence, with only the barely audible chooks and tings from the car’s speakers breaking the quiet. They quickly became annoying and she turned off the stereo. He didn’t seem to notice. He had a vacant, one-thousand-mile stare painted on his face; there was little doubt in her mind he was thinking about his brother. She said, “Are you okay?” He looked startled, as if suddenly realizing where he was. “I guess.” He paused. “Not really.” “Do you want to talk about it?” “No.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the motion turning into an irritable scratch. His lips were a hard, thin line. Chloe knew him well enough to recognize the gesture. He did want to talk about it, and eventually he would, probably one

8 stuttering sentence first, and then a few minutes later, three or four more. Finally, he’d open the tap all the way, but that would take an hour or two. Longer if she pressed, so she said nothing and instead, twiddled curls of hair around her fingers and watched the scenery go by. She’d never seen a landscape as beautiful as northern Ontario’s Canadian Shield country in October, countryside she’d grown used to over the last several months but was seeing again for the first time—a different lake around every corner, the water like a sheet of hammered steel, reflecting rocks and boulders and blue-green coniferous trees in vibrant sharp-edged clarity. Everything was highlighted in the red and gold of the changing leaves. Even at the height of the day, the light was soft and diffused, giving the world a photogenic quality. The air was sharp and pure, cold enough when she woke up that morning to bring her sinuses alive with the clean smell of the water and the

9 forest. Cold enough she needed the fleece she told Jake she didn’t want and wouldn’t wear, so many months ago. After several miles of silence, and because it wasn’t her nature to stay mute for long, Chloe said, “You’re not ready to talk. That’s okay. You want me to go, instead?” “I don’t see how I can possibly stop you.” “Asshole.” “You talk when you’re awake, and I’ve heard you talk in your sleep, and I’m hopeful you’ll talk in bed. Dirty, filthy stuff that would make a sailor blush—” “You’re talking about the panties your mother laid out for you, right?” It took him a second to catch the Seinfeld reference, then he laughed out loud. “Better than that, I hope.” She gave him an enormous toothy grin. He smiled back, before returning his attention to the road. She took a deep breath

10 and exhaled slowly, trying to calm a sudden flurry of nerves. He was back in the car with her. Now she wanted to keep him there. “Do you want me to tell you why Dalrymple was after me?” “I thought it was a great big secret.” He sounded ambivalent, which surprised her at first, less so after a moment’s thought. She’d said, “What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” so many times he no longer cared, she surmised. On top of which, Dalrymple was dead, so the reasons the Freak was after her didn’t much matter anymore. For Jake, the story started and ended with Dalrymple. For her however, Dalrymple was not the entire story, and what Jake didn’t know was poisoning her as surely as an arsenic drip. That happened when a person held themselves responsible for the death of a friend. Chloe needed to shed some weight. She said, “Keeping it secret doesn’t make sense now he’s dead. It’s all going to come out in the investigation. I can’t think

11 of a reason to hold back anymore. Other than it’s embarrassing and I feel guilty for what happened.” “Embarrassed?” he said, sounding curious. “You know. My time with the Boss.” “Oh.” He nodded. “Why do you feel guilty?” “That’s the big story. The part you don’t know.” “It’s up to you, Chloe. If you want to tell me, go ahead.” “Alright” she said, and then, because she was embarrassed and nervous and trying to control the grief these memories stirred, she did something silly, which wasn’t uncharacteristic. She was an outgoing person and intrinsically, odd ideas occasionally popped into her head. She went with them, without looking too far into the future, like when she asked Lawrence for a job or when she told Jake she wanted a career in health care—accurate but surprising. The words had tumbled from her mouth before she knew she was going to say them.

12 Without forethought, Chloe started to sing. “I was working as a barista in a coffee shop, when I met him…” Jake’s head flashed around and he looked at her out of wide startled eyes. “Please, please, never sing that song again.” She had a passably decent singing voice and she knew it, so naturally, she sang the next line. And the one after it. Then she said innocently, “I’m trying to give you an ear-worm. That one is on everybody’s list, right there with American Pie. But nobody sings American Pie because they don’t know the words. Aside from the chorus, I mean.” “I’m going to be humming it for the next hundred miles. Thanks.” “Which one?” “Like it matters.”

13 “Anyhow… This woman came into the coffee shop where I worked, three or four times a week. She looked Italian to me—” “What’s that mean?” “Thick dark hair. Heavy black eyebrows. An olive complexion. You know, Italian.” Nerves made Chloe’s heart run a gear faster than normal. Now she’d started, she didn’t want to stop. “Be quiet. Let me say this.” “Sorry.” “She always had a frown on her face, and two deep stress-gouges between her eyes. She always ordered an extra hot, tall skinny mocha, and she’d always point at me and say, ‘I want her to make it.’ I told her one day, ‘My name is Chloe, ma’am.’ I think she smiled. It was hard to tell. The lines in her face went away for a second. After that, she’d point and say, ‘I want Chloe to make it.’ Not that it mattered. Half the time she sent it back.

14 Too cold. Too much froth. Not enough froth. Too hot, if you can believe that.” “After she ordered it extra hot, you mean?” “Yeah. So, now and then, she came in with a man, who I assumed was her husband. They never seemed happy or comfortable together—” “They looked miserable, so they had to be married?” “That’s not what I meant, but I think that’s how it was. She’d give me the same shitty attitude as always and her husband would compensate the other way.” “Was this the Boss?” Chloe nodded. “She’d go upstairs and read the paper. He’d take his time, chatting to me if it wasn’t too busy. We got to know each other. I told him I was an interior designer. Turned out his wife wanted a couple of rooms in their house redone. He wanted to turn his den into an office out of a British movie. Dark

15 wood and floor to ceiling bookshelves. Heavy curtains and horizontal slats. He wanted a power desk, something the size of a Cadillac, he said. It was a huge opportunity for me. A big responsibility. After making lattes every day for an endless lineup of idiots, I was excited. My first job, doing something I went to school for!” Chloe kept her eyes on him as she spoke. Like all guys, Jake was pretty good at pretending to pay attention. Not as good as he thought he was, but pretty good all the same, and she wasn’t going to tell her story if he was faking it, or if he was off in the distance thinking about Mark. She was stalling too, putting off the hard part for as long as she could. It was coming soon and if she was going to tell it, she wanted all of his attention. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “What? I’m listening.” She said in a rush, “He talked her into hiring me.”

16 “And one thing led to another?” “He’s older than me but he’s not old. He’s handsome and friendly. To this day, I don’t think him and his wife like each other.” She realized she was jabbering. She forced herself to stop and wait, watching to see if his body would stiffen in disapproval. If he was going to judge her, this was the moment it would happen. Above all, she didn’t want Jake to judge her. He told her once, “We both have histories.” Hopefully he wasn’t making mouth noises. Typically, she couldn’t stay silent for long. “You’re not sitting there, criticizing me in silence, are you?” “What?” He seemed confused. “No. Why?” She shrugged, unwilling to tell him she couldn’t live with his judgment. She’d just as soon part ways at the next bus stop and figure out the next step on her own.

17 Jake said, “You told me what you did with the Boss wasn’t honorable. Maybe you’re right, maybe not. I don’t know. Let’s face it, that sort of thing happens all the time. It’s not unusual. If I thought it was a deal breaker, we wouldn’t be in the car together. Right now, the past is a disaster I’d prefer to forget. The future looks a whole lot better than the past.” “Okay,” she said, relieved at his response and curious how she’d worked herself into such a concerned state in the first place. He’d never hinted her affair with the Boss bothered him. “Anyway,” she said, “The point of all this is, an office, a master bedroom and a formal sitting room, is a big project for an interior designer. I was in and out of the Boss’s place for several months in a row. He liked to entertain. He called himself a businessman. A deal maker. He’d throw parties to put people together. Now and then I recognized some of the faces, if I happened to be on site that day. Politicians, businessmen, people

18 you’d see on TV. It wasn’t unusual to see Dalrymple hanging around the fringes. When the Boss threw one of his shindigs, he used an event planner named, Tobias Garnet.” Chloe bit her lower lip, blinked rapidly and looked out the side window. Although Garnet wasn’t responsible for the disaster on Lake Michigan, she wished she’d never met him. Her association with him was the worst of several unhappy consequences that resulted from a single terrible decision—agreeing to work for the Boss. It was several seconds before she was able to continue. “The people up there in the city’s rarified air all know each other, or they’ve heard of each other. Seven degrees of separation, you know? So, they pass Garnet’s name around and say what a genius he is, and he’s able to charge out the ass because his clients are all rich.

19 “To maintain his reputation, he expects military perfection from the people he hires. He isn’t gentle about getting it. He wants things done on his terms. It’s his way or the highway. He barks orders. If someone doesn’t like it, he doesn’t hire them twice. But the caterers and bartenders and waitresses know what to expect. They know if they perform, he’ll pay them well, rehire them and defend them if some drunk VIP starts acting like an idiot.” “Probably not unusual.” “It’s in their character.” Stalling once more she said, “I saw one jack-ass unload on a bartender, really go off on the poor man. He ordered the top-shelf rum and claimed he was served the cheap stuff. Garnet told the bartender to take a break, then he mixed the jack-ass a new drink. He poured the cheap stuff when the guy wasn’t looking. The jack-ass took a long slow sip and said, ‘That’s better. That’s what I expected.’

20 “Garnet says, ‘Excellent, Sir. I’m glad I could make this right for you.’ The jack-ass is about to walk away and Garnet calls after him in a completely different tone, ‘By the way, if you have a problem with one of my employees, you come to me. You do not demean my people. Ever. Got it? Are we goddamn clear?’” “Whoa,” Jake said. “I know. I remember exactly what he said because I was so shocked. VIPs don’t like getting spoken to that way. He complained. The Boss laughed in his face. Told him, ‘It’s an open bar, for fuck’s sake. You’re gonna complain about free alcohol?’ “Stories like that float around in the rarified air. VIPs weren’t sure if Garnet offended or impressed them. Either way, his business didn’t suffer. He gave the bartender a one-hundred-dollar bonus at the end of the night. And, next time he needs a

21 bartender, that man will drop everything and do whatever Garnet wants. He’ll work like a whipped donkey.” She paused, “Word is, Garnet carries on like a tyrant because he wants his employees talking about what an asshole he is.” “Sounds like a big act, to me.” “Maybe it is. I don’t know. Why would he want that reputation?” She wriggled around in her seat. Jake must have been wrapped up in her story—either that or he’d zoned out—because he didn’t complain or give her exasperated eyes when she ratcheted her seat back, kicked off her sneakers and put her sock clad feet up on the dashboard. She scrunched her toes and thought for a second about how nice it would be to paint her toenails and wear sandals again. As beautiful as the Shield country was in autumn, winter was around the corner and the weather in Florida was better than anywhere in Canada during December.

22 She continued, “So, this one time the Boss decided to organize a fishing charter for a bunch of politicians and lawyers. He doubted much fishing would happen, but fishing wasn’t the point. Getting the right people together and hammering out a deal was the point, something about downtown real estate. He gave Garnet the guest list and told him to make it happen. “At the time, Garnet was looking for some new talent. That’s what he called the people he hired. He wondered if I knew four or five girls from my time at TGIFs who’d be interested in making one-thousand dollars cash, for a day waitressing on the charter. He could have found the people he needed himself, but he said there was no substitute for a first-hand recommendation. He trusted me because the Boss trusted me. I gave him a friend’s name.” Chloe hesitated again, and this pause lasted longer than all the others, long enough for Jake to glance at her with raised

23 eyebrows. She sniffled and blotted the corners of her eyes with one of the Kleenex she always had stored in one pocket or another. “My friend’s entire life revolved around her father, and her little dog. Her mother died a few years ago. Her father is alive but he has early onset Alzheimer’s. That’s a tough one. Every single day is a fight. They don’t like being told they forgot to shower or change their clothes. They think they’re fine. An extra thousand for a day’s work? That would have gone a long way. She could have skipped a shift or two, taken some time for herself. When Garnet asked for a recommendation, I didn’t even need to think about it. “And oh, Jake, her dog. He’s an adorable Cocker Spaniel. Brown and white, like copper splashed with paint. That’s why she named him Copper. When he wags his stubby tail, his whole rear end shakes. He’s so cute. She loved that dog. She’d say

24 things like, ‘When he was a baby, he’d sleep in my slipper.’ His first real bed was a big fluffy towel folded into a cake pan.” Chloe’s voice choked and broke. Her sniffles turned to silent sobs. With the tissue wadded into a soggy ball in her fist, her fingers found the fish medallion on the necklace chain. It made a frenzied buzzing noise as she jerked it back and forth. Jake reached across the console and patted her leg. She found the gesture both awkward and sweet—he didn’t know why she was crying and didn’t know how to react. “Baby, huh? Not puppy?” He smiled. Chloe managed a weak smile of her own. She shook her head. “People and their dogs.” Jake said, “I remember seeing something on TV about a boat going missing on Lake Michigan. It made the news in Florida because of the number of high profile people onboard. I guess that’s the charter you’re talking about?”

25 With a short nod, Chloe said, “I can only guess what happened…”

26 Part 2 A gleaming white, thirty-eight-foot Bertram power yacht sat five miles offshore on the slightly rolling surface of Lake Michigan. The blue water perfectly reflected the cloudless sky

27 and bounced the heat of the day onto the yacht’s gelcoat decking, as though through a magnifying glass. Music surrounded the eighteen people on board the yacht, an innocuous playlist without commercials. It was turned up just loud enough a person would need to lean in too closely for social acceptability, had he wanted to eavesdrop on a semi private conversation. Of the eighteen people on board, six were crew and twelve were guests. Nine of the guests were men, most wearing aloha shirts, although some wore golf shirts by Polo or Lacoste. Two of the braver souls went shirtless, guys who weren’t afraid to show off graying chest hair and backs as fury as worn out welcome mats. No matter the size of their middle-aged bellies, all of them had skinny legs and knobby knees that poked out of ill-fitting board shorts or cargo shorts. They padded around bare foot with more wiry hair jabbing out of toe knuckles.

28 As unconcerned as the men were with their clothing choices, the women were obsessive the other way. All three wore conservative one-piece bathing suits, sarongs, large sunhats and even larger sunglasses. The crew consisted of the captain up in the flying bridge, Tobias Garnet who was the general manager on the day’s voyage, a bartender in the galley, and three waitresses who worked at a local restaurant known as Ta-Taz, modeled aggressively after the Hooters franchise but marketed differently to avoid a trade mark lawsuit. The girl’s too-small-shorts were green not orange and instead of chicken wings, the restaurant bragged about their loaded nachos. All three Ta-Taz girls were moonlighting on a day off for one-thousand dollars each. Minimum. Garnet told the guests to be generous, goddamn generous; waitresses worked for tips.

29 Ten days before the charter set sail he interviewed the Ta-Taz girls and told them, “I want you to be conspicuous. Got it? A guest even thinks he’s getting peckish, I want you at his elbow with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. A guest should always have a drink in hand. Got it?” The Ta-Taz girls looked at each other. They shrugged and nodded. This wasn’t anything new. It sounded like a typical Friday night at the restaurant. “Seen but not heard, right up until I tell you to disappear,” Garnet continued. “Then, you’re three blind mice.” One of the Ta-Taz girls raised her hand tentatively, fingers only coming up to shoulder level. “You don’t have to raise your hand, sweetheart.” Garnet thought he knew what she was going to ask. He said, “What’s your name?” Before she had a chance to answer he waved his own question away. “Never mind. You’re all three gonna be

30 Lilly. I got too much on my mind setting this cluster-fuck up to remember your names.” Which was only somewhat true. On a quiet, personal level, Garnet had what his brother derogatorily called yellow fever. When he had a rare evening without plans and wanted company, he speed-dialed one of three or four Asian prostitutes listed in his phone, who for some reason, all called themselves, Lilly. None of the charter’s waitresses were Asian—one was too blonde, one was too tall and one was too curvy—but pretending he didn’t care what their real names were, was an important part of his act, and for obvious reasons, he thought Lilly a pretty name. As for the business part of the charter, he wasn’t exaggerating about this particular “cluster-fuck.” He was buzzing around like a housefly on meth, sorting out details for a

31 crowd of VIPs who were, one and all, as aggravating as a plague of marble sized boils on the plumpest part of his ass. One guest insisted the appetizer choices include fresh oysters on the half shell. Garnet didn’t bother pointing out that Chicago was several hours away from both coasts, so how fresh could they possibly be? A second guest wouldn’t eat anything if it was prepared in the same kitchen as any kind of seafood, especially oysters. Etcetera. As long as everyone on the guest list was also on the boat, the Boss didn’t care about twelve VIP sized egos, “...so don’t come to me with stories of Tabasco covered snot on the half shell,” he barked at Garnet. “I don’t give two fucks.” One guest flat out refused to change his schedule. Garnet had to buy the shit-bird a fifteen-thousand-dollar diamond Rolex and four new Michelins for his BMW, as well as dream up a

32 bunch of nonsense, “…this is how valuable your input is to the Boss.” He added under his breath, “He’s thanking everyone else with gift cards from Walgreens.” Complete bullshit of course, but for some reason, VIPs loved that kind of pandering. Even more amazing, they often believed it. Garnet said to Blonde Lilly, the one who raised her hand, “You were going to ask why you needed to go blind for part of the afternoon?” She said with a shading of concern, “I don’t want to be part of—” “To my knowledge, nothing illegal is happening on the boat. However, when people like this start talking, anything can happen. Why put yourself in an awkward position?” Blonde Lilly nodded. “Carrying on, then,” Garnet said. “Uniforms. Matching bikini tops and short shorts. Work it out amongst the three of

33 you. Bring me the receipts. The guests are buying, whether they realize it or not, so don’t worry about the price. I won’t insist on high heels. Wear comfortable shoes. I want your pretty asses moving. I don’t want to see you stumbling around in heels on a boat.” He pointed at Curvy Lilly, “Pigtails.” He pointed at Lilly number two, the tall one and said, “Ponytail.” Finally, he looked at Blonde Lilly. “Your hair goes in a scrunchie. Not out the back. Make it come out the top. You need to look different than Tall Lilly. “Don’t forget industrial strength sunscreen. Got it? Nobody needs skin cancer before the day’s over, do we?” He paused. “Last thing, sunglasses. You all have good sunglasses, correct? You know what, never mind. Find a pair you like. Good ones. Bring me the receipts. Consider it a bonus.”

34 He studied the list in his hands, entirely missing the Lillys’ head nods and head shakes. Not that it would have mattered. His instructions were clear and not up for debate. “As for the guests, I want you to know exactly what to expect...Russian hands and Roman fingers. Fair warning: if you can’t live with ass-grabbing, this job isn’t for you. These shit-birds believe they’re important and can therefore get away with more than usual. If one of them gives you a slap on the butt, I don’t care. Expect it. Live with it. Anything worse, find me immediately. I’ll take care of it. They aren’t as entitled as they think.” He gave them a few seconds to decide, looking at them in turn. The Lillys looked back and forth between each other once more. Just a typical Friday night at Ta-Taz. After getting a nod of agreement from each, Garnet said, “The worst will be David Davis the third. He’s gay and trying

35 hard to prove he isn’t. The others are living the natural order of things—either happily divorced or unhappily married. Do not underestimate the women. They are not your allies. They will act as poorly as the men. Got it? “One is married and not really into it. She’ll be as handsy as David Davis. The other two are divorced. One of the divorcees is a complete ball-buster. She has three ex-husbands. Every one of them ran away screaming, straight into the arms of pretty young things such as yourselves. She obviously won’t like you. She’ll be rude and insulting. I don’t care. Treat her like the rest of the guests. Anything worse than nasty remarks, find me. Got it?” He waited for the nods. “The second divorcee can’t keep her hands off men. No problem there. You’ll be invisible to her. Questions so far?” The Lillys shook their heads.

36 Garnet’s voice became friendlier. “You all came to me on recommendations. You know what I expect from you, in the way of performance. I’ve told you what to expect from the shit-birds. I don’t see this cluster-fuck being much different than your day jobs, other than we’ll be on a boat. Work hard. Live with the small stuff. Let me deal with the big stuff. We’ll all go home with next month’s rent in our pockets.” Tall Lilly said, “Why do we have to dress that way? There are women on the charter.” Garnet said, “Mathematics. Most of the guests are men, and men love the kind of look I’m talking about. You’ll be one of several ingredients to a perfect day on the water, which goes a long way to ensuring future business for me and therefore, for you. As for the women, well…to one of them, you’ll be invisible, as I explained. One of them will find you as attractive as the men do. As for the ball-buster…not much we can do

37 about her. Every kindergarten class has a problem child. In this situation, the uniform’s pluses far outweigh the minuses.” He paused and looked at her intently. “I asked earlier if this was going to be an issue.” Tall Lilly looked back at him without dropping her eyes. She said, “Nope. No issue. I was curious is all.” Garnet gave her a skinny smile and a small nod. He liked her look and he loved her self-assurance. Typically, someone like her handled shit-birds effortlessly, without realizing she was doing so. Already he knew he’d hire her again. Now they were out on the lake and things were going pretty much like Garnet expected and hoped, although next time he organized an event on a boat, he’d ignore the literature that claimed thirty-eight feet was big enough for eighteen people. There was space on the Bertram for everyone, as long as they spread themselves out from front to back and top to bottom,

38 which made confidential conversations easy, but when it came time for the big meeting, the twelve guests were jumbled too closely together. They bumped elbows. As hard as each of them tried, nobody could stand out as the most important shit-bird in the crowd. Unacceptable for a VIP. Goddamn, he disliked their arrogance. He respected the Lillys’ honest hard-work ethic far more than the dedication to public service the shit-birds claimed. Of course, that was an opinion he couldn’t allow to get out and breathe. After all, there was a formula to success... When he acted like an obnoxious tyrant, pretending he didn’t care what his employee’s names were for example, word got around and VIPs approved with grave nods. After all, that was how a subordinate needed to be treated. When the occasional VIP disapproved, he was ignored or overruled because, “…Garnet is an eccentric. You were at my Christmas

39 party. You saw what he put together. An eccentric genius. That’s all.” He hired people who did their jobs exceedingly well because ultimately, every successful business depended on the strength of the employees. Their high standards made him look good in the eyes of the VIPs. He quietly counterbalanced his bad behaviour by paying his people well, defending them aggressively and rehiring them for subsequent jobs. Finally, he charged exorbitantly because if he was the most expensive, he had to be the best and a shit-bird could never settle for anything less than the best. Everyone ended up happy, though for different reasons. The sun beat down. The Bertram rolled gently on the water. Garnet drifted around the edges of the various groups, doing his best to remain inconspicuous, discreetly directing the Lillys toward whichever shit-bird needed attention. Each of the

40 waitresses responded without hesitation. It was a treat working with people who were happy to earn their salary. When the VIPs walked off the boat at the end of the day, he had no doubt they’d agree they’d been well looked after, as was their right. He kept his eyes open, watching for unguarded moments that occur when people who consider themselves important come together. A couple of the men had lines in the water. Garnet suspected neither one of them would know what to do if a fish hit. David Davis was all Russian hands and Roman fingers, as advertised. The ball-buster was giving the Lillys a ton of passive-aggressive attitude. All three seemed to be handling it okay. Garnet didn’t know every time the bartender refilled the ball-buster’s margarita glass, one of the Lillys spit in it, or blew her nose in it. Work at a place like Ta-Taz long enough and a person

41 develops a thick skin and learns how to deal with both the good and bad customers. Especially the bad ones. Divorcee number two, the man-eater, slipped away to one of the staterooms at some point. When Garnet realized it, he snuck down and watched her give one of the married guests a deep and leisurely blowjob. He managed to record twenty seconds of video and snap a couple of quiet pictures with his iPhone. An unguarded moment. It wasn’t reputation alone that kept him in groceries. Yeah, it was all going pretty much as expected, right up until one of the guys pointed off the starboard gunwale and said, “Look at this butt head. 10,000 square miles of lake and he’s aiming at us?” Garnet looked, and there was nobody else on the lake except the boat apparently arrowing in their direction. Two minutes later there was no doubt. It had targeted them,

42 presumably using GPS coordinates. He said, “It’s probably the Boss.” The boat slowed, dropping off the step as it came abeam the Bertram. There were only two men in it, a twenty-five-foot Sea Ray bow-rider with a 300 Merc outboard. The guy driving the Sea Ray was mostly hidden, back behind the wheel. The one standing in the open bow was tall and wide. He wore a too-tight T-shirt with large sweat stains below each arm. His hair was unnaturally black. Dye had leached down one side of his face, leaving Magic Marker-like stripes on his cheek. He said, in a voice pitched higher than a person would expect for a guy of his size, “Good afternoon, folks. My name is Eric Dalrymple. Some of you might know me as Mr. Blonde. I work for the Boss.” Drinks in hand, the guests glanced back and forth at each other, some with curiosity, some with annoyance, the smart ones with unease.

43 Garnet took a slow sip of the whiskey sour he held. Something was askew. Two people in the boat, neither of whom was the Boss. He hadn't expected this, nor had he been led to believe it would happen this way on today’s charter. He recognized Dalrymple, of course. He had organized several similar cluster-fucks for the Boss; at some point they’d been introduced. Although he didn’t know what role the big man with the high voice and strange hair played, being in the same room with him made Garnet nervous. There was an aura about him that made Garnet think of dark alleys and smashed glass, knuckle dusters and splintered bones. Without being able to put his thumb on precisely what was making him edgy, he muttered, “I don’t like the look of this.” He downed his drink in one fast swallow. Beside him, Tall Lilly murmured, “He looks deranged.”

44 Under his breath, Garnet answered, “Oh, his fan belt has definitely slipped.” He put a paternal hand on her shoulder. In a voice empty of arrogance or superiority, he said, “What’s your name, sweetheart?” “Lilly.” “Your real name.” “Blair.” “You’ve done a really good job today, Blair. I look forward to working with you again. Now, I want you to back up a couple of steps and then turn around and walk away. Make yourself invisible. Got it?” He sounded like a worried parent. He tried but was unable to disguise the concern in his voice. “What’s going on?” He heard a thin layer of nervousness beneath her calm, carefully controlled voice. He liked her more for it. Blonde

45 Lilly, who was every bit as good a worker bee, probably wouldn’t have managed such composure. He said, “I suspect school is in session. One of our VIPs, maybe more than one, is going to be taught a lesson. Whatever it is, you don’t want to see it. Now, please, Blair. Do as I ask. Okay?” So, Blair did. Every bit the professional, she said, “Give me your glass,” and then she back pedaled two steps, did a one-eighty in her yellow bejewelled sandals and walked silently across the deck, down the stairs into the galley. Nobody watched her go. All eyes were pinned on Dalrymple. Garnet shouldered through the crowd of shit-birds to the side of the Bertram. “Eric,” he said, “What’s going on? Where’s the Boss?” Dalrymple glared at him.

46 “Sorry.” Garnet raised two conciliatory hands. “Mr. Blonde. Why are you here? What’s going on? I thought the Boss was coming out with you.” Behind him there was a general rumble of agreement. That was indeed what everyone expected. Dalrymple held up a single finger. “Hang on.” He ducked down and scrounged around in the bottom of the boat. When he stood, he held a matte black grenade launcher in his arms. Garnet recognized it. Watch enough action movies, it was obvious. Absently, for a slice of a second, he wondered where Dalrymple found a grenade launcher, then he decided it didn’t matter. When a guy is holding a grenade launcher, he’s going to use it. He practically has to use it, if only to see how big a boom it makes. “Hey now!” Garnet said, taking an involuntary step backward. Patting the air in a calming gesture, he said, “Hold on. Hold on now! What’s that for?”

47 Voices rose into a frightened babble. Someone exclaimed shrilly, “Oh my God!” Garnet scanned the suddenly frightened faces and knew he’d asked Dalrymple an irrelevant question. This crowd of lawyers and planners and politicians, all gathered together in one place at the Boss’s request, were far away from city crowds and potential witnesses. What is that for? The answer was unambiguous. He swallowed dryly. Talking would not make one bit of difference at this point, but what else was there? He tried moistening his lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper. “You don’t have to do this. There’s got to be another way. That’s why everyone’s out here, isn’t it?” Dalrymple fussed with the weapon, turning it over, studying the sides of it, as if trying to figure out how it worked.

48 As he did, he carried on a monologue in his weird high-pitched voice. “The thing is, you’ve all made money at the Boss’s expense. But not one of you fuck-wits can get your head out of your ass long enough to make something happen. Well, that ends today. He’s tired of waiting. A guy pays for something, he expects something in return. It’s only logical. If not, he scrubs the investment.” That’s when the frightened babble turned into screams. The whiskey sour, that moments ago had tasted so refreshing, churned in Garnet’s stomach, threatening to come back up in an acidic yellow eruption. He repeated weakly, “You don’t have to do this.” In response, Dalrymple planted the weapon securely on his shoulder. Unlike the action movies, it didn’t boom thunderously when he squeezed the trigger. It made a loud airy sort of plunk and then a grenade whoosed across the deck, through the open

49 door and down the stairs into the galley. A second later it exploded with a large flat WHAP that made the hot afternoon air pulse. The explosion punched a hole in the side of the yacht and killed the bartender as well as all three Lillys instantly. They were the lucky ones. Everyone on the deck panicked. Some tried to run to the opposite side of the Bertram, like that would make a difference. The yacht was already sinking. The grenade launcher’s enormous cylindrical magazine rotated and a second grenade landed on the flying bridge, blowing the captain into sticky red vapour before he was able to make a mayday call. The third grenade slammed into the back wall of the main cabin and rebounded, bouncing twice before coming to a stop on the deck. The guests stared at it in stunned shock.

50 Garnet pushed through them. Moving fast, he reached down and grabbed it, intent on throwing it back into the Sea Ray. Absurdly, he wondered why it looked like an insulated coffee mug or small thermos, rather than an undersized pineapple or oversized avocado. Then it exploded, turning him and everyone near him into a slurry of flesh and bone. The fourth and fifth grenades went where the first one did, enlarging the hole below the waterline. Dalrymple propped the rocket launcher in the triangle crotch at the front of the bow-rider. He grabbed two Bud Lite from one of the Sea Ray’s integral coolers. He lobbed one underhand to the driver and pulled the tab on his own. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he thirstily gulped the beer. By the time he crushed the empty can on the gunwale—Bud Lite went down fast on a day as hot as this—the Bertram had disappeared into the depths of Lake Michigan.

51 A couple of guests remained alive, only partially blown up and clinging desperately to chunks of floating debris. One of them had found a bright orange life preserver and was begging Dalrymple to fish him out of the water. He wore a glittering diamond Rolex on his wrist. Dalrymple coughed out a short high-pitched giggle. “Really?” he said. “Is that what you want?” He looked at the guy behind the Sea Ray’s steering wheel. “Run this fuck-wit over. Run over anyone who isn’t face down.” That was only a moderately successful exercise. At slow speed, a large bow-rider equipped with a large outboard, doesn’t maneuver in an especially precise manner. Dalrymple pulled out a handgun and started shooting, again with less than optimal results—handguns are inaccurate weapons when shot from an unstable surface at an unstable target.

52 Between gunshots, the guy driving the boat said, “A shotgun would have made this deal a whole lot simpler.” Dalrymple agreed. Shotguns made most jobs easier. He nodded silently; he was busy concentrating. He emptied one magazine and most of a second. Between the boat and the bullets, he got the job done, and if it took longer than strictly necessary, it didn’t seem to impact his unusually good humor. As much as he loathed the heat, nobody could deny how much fun playing with guns could be on a nice day. And, he did have cold Bud Lite and a fast, windy ride back to shore to offset the punishing afternoon sunshine. After that, nobody was left. If someone had lived, the charter wasn’t supposed to dock for several hours. By the time search and rescue realized the Bertram was missing and managed to find its last known location, there wouldn’t be anything left except a dissipating oil slick, a couple of limp sun

53 hats and a seat cushion or two, bobbing on the surface of the lake. Dalrymple and the guy driving the boat looked at each other over their second Bud Lite. They clanked cans and nodded in agreement—the grenade launcher worked well. Dalrymple dropped it over the side. It disappeared forever with a small burst of silver bubbles while Dalrymple cleaned his hands with a lemon scented Wet Ones. The man at the boat’s helm pushed the throttle forward. With a happy roar, the Sea Ray headed for shore.

54 Part 3 Chloe continued, “I can only guess what happened, based on what I overheard and what Blair told me after Garnet hired her.”

55 “Your friend’s name was Blair,” Jake said, unnecessarily. “I told her, ‘Garnet is predictable. You’re just right for him.’ With her experience and her looks—she did some part time modeling—the job was a lock. I didn’t think I’d like Blair the first time we met, but she was my friend and I pushed her into this gig with both hands—” “Turned out she was interesting and friendly. You kind of forgot she modeled?” Chloe gave him a glare. “Not the time, Jake.” It took him a second, then he said, “You’re right.” He didn’t look at her. A warm red hue climbed his neck and touched the edge of his ear. “I apologize.” She continued burning him with her eyes, waiting for a contrite burst of white noise: “I’m sure you’re as attractive as she is,” but presumably, her rebuke was enough because he held his silence.

56 And, then it was his stubborn muteness that stirred her pot, partly because his statement about her initial attitude toward Blair struck too closely to home, and partly because he wasn’t a mind reader (as much as she thought that a reasonable requirement for a boyfriend), and in these sad and angry and vulnerable moments, she wanted to hear him say, “I’m sure you’re as attractive as she is.” Several miles of highway disappeared behind them before Chloe picked up the thread of her story. “The day of the charter, I showed up at the Boss’s house. He was in his office with Dalrymple. I said something like, ‘I thought you were fishing today?’ I couldn’t help myself. I was so surprised to see him. In hindsight, I think it was too familiar. For someone who wasn’t part of his inner circle, it sounded like I knew too much about his business.

57 “The Boss was friendly and casual. He said, ‘Something came up. Eric is going to run me out in the Sea Ray.’ I believed him. Why wouldn’t I? He didn’t give me a reason to think otherwise. But Dalrymple gave me this suspicious look, way worse than usual. When I left the room, I dragged my heels.” She paused. “Probably doesn’t surprise you much, right?” Jake said nothing, but she saw his mouth hook into a small smile. “I hung around the door listening for a few seconds, maybe five seconds is all. Dalrymple said he didn’t trust me. The Boss didn’t think I was a problem, but there was something in his voice. He wasn’t agreeing with Dalrymple, but he wasn’t disagreeing either. They started talking about the charter and Dalrymple said he sure hoped the boat didn’t have mechanical problems, way out there in the middle of the lake, no land in sight. Then the office door slammed shut. Like I said, five

58 seconds, and you know what I was thinking? Dalrymple is afraid of boats! How could a guy as scary as him dislike boats or be nervous of the water?” She shook her head. “Naive.” “Did they know you overheard them?” “I didn’t think so at first. Now I’m not sure.” “Did Dalrymple know you and the Boss were carrying on?” “I don’t know. Maybe. Why?” “Maybe that’s why he was suspicious of you.” “He didn’t trust anyone on general principles.” Chloe hiked her shoulders. “I don’t think anyone knew. We were discrete. I doubt I would have been allowed near the house if anyone knew.” “I guess it doesn’t matter,” Jake said. “The boat didn’t come back and the Boss decided you were going in the trunk.” “He didn’t decide right away. It was a few days later. You have to remember, these things gain momentum slowly. You

59 don’t know what happened, then you don’t believe it, then you do believe it but you don’t know how to react. I didn’t realize the boat was missing until midnight. I was surfing, looking for the forecast, reading the interesting stuff you think is trash. I kind of tripped on a headline.” Fishing Charter Missing on Lake Michigan. Like all good headlines, the large bold type yelled at her in silence from the computer screen, not because she expected anything untoward, at least not right away, but because of the associations it raised in her mind. Over several days, she’d listened to comments and details about the charter. She’d recommended Blair to Tobias Garnet. She’d overheard Garnet ranting and raving about oysters, for some reason, and she’d watched the Boss turn apoplectic crimson at the mention of a diamond Rolex, for some reason. Anyone near the Boss—family, friends and employees—knew the charter was important

60 to him. The event and the date were fixed firmly in Chloe’s mind, so the headline understandably piqued her curiosity. At the same time, it struck her as an odd sort of coincidence. But, how much of a coincidence was it, really? The Great Lakes were massive, unforgiving bodies of water that on rare occasions, overwhelmed boats and ships. Songs were written about Great Lake shipwrecks. Lists were made. But those tragedies happened infrequently. For every one disaster, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of vessels left docks and piers and marinas early in the day and at some point, returned safely to land. If there was a coincidence, Chloe decided, it was small. And, if there was such a thing as the opposite of a coincidence, and the article was in fact referring to the Boss’s charter, claiming it was missing mere hours after it was expected back was irresponsible journalism. Possibly they experienced a mechanical problem and were running late. Maybe they docked

61 at a different marina from which they departed. Considering who the guests were, perhaps they were attending a drunken cocaine fueled party, spouses and significant-others not invited nor informed. Anything was possible. Anything at all was better than Missing and the associated implications that came with the word. A reporter couldn’t throw words like Missing around without substantiating them. Irresponsible journalism. She scanned the article, hitting every other sentence and then every other word and when she reached the heart of the article, the point when the writer started naming people who were missing and presumed dead, Chloe leaned forward into the computer screen and started at the top again, unaware she was breathing faster and more shallowly than moments before. A vague anger she didn’t understand grew at the reporter and the

62 manner in which he listed the names of the missing VIPs, diminishing everyone else by referring to them only as, “the crew.” By the time she finished re-reading the article, she was repeating, “No,” over and over again. In a sudden rush, she realized it wasn’t anger she was feeling, it was the icy hand of guilt and despair squeezing her heart, because the crew included Blair. For her, Blair was the crew. Chloe’s jaw worked and her mouth opened and closed but she found it hard to breathe and could only stare at the computer screen and wonder what happened. What went wrong? And, why-oh-why did she encourage Blair (push her with both hands), into taking the job? She turned on the television and found a channel with local news. At the same time, she searched for more information online, learning only that the coast guard had found a small

63 debris field and, “efforts were ongoing,” and if anyone could nail down exactly what that meant, she wanted to speak with them. Irrationally, she dialed Blair’s cell phone, irrationally because she knew there wasn’t a chance Garnet would allow an employee to answer her cell phone while working. When Blair didn’t answer, Chloe found herself laughing bitterly and sobbing at the same time. Garnet had nothing to do with it; Blair wasn’t answering because her cell phone was on the bottom of Lake Michigan. Blair was on the bottom of Lake Michigan. She tabbed the Boss’s number into her own phone. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be him. It was his charter, and most days he seemed to know a little bit about a great many things. She hesitated with her thumb hovering over the green Send button. There was no earthly reason for her to phone the Boss. There was no excuse believable enough to

64 warrant a midnight call from the pretty young thing he hired to redesign a couple of rooms in a mansion that didn’t need any improvements or upgrades. Helpless ignorance turned into blind frustration. She cocked her arm back with the phone in her fist. A tiny piece of a second before she threw it at the wall, rationality returned and instead, she placed it with a trembling hand beside the computer keyboard. After that there wasn’t a thing she could do, other than wait and hope one of the “anything” scenarios she imagined came to fruition during the night, although she was confident none would. She didn’t expect to sleep but stress is an exhausting emotion and eventually she dropped off, and in the moment between wakefulness and unconsciousness, when the mind sometimes makes the strangest of connections, she remembered

65 Dalrymple saying he hoped the boat didn’t have mechanical problems. A few hours later she awoke with one clear thought in her head. Copper. Blair was gone, and her little dog had to be wondering where his human was and why he’d been left alone all night, without an evening walk and a bedtime cookie. She dressed haphazardly. Eschewing make-up, she stuffed her red curls into a ball cap and donned a pair of sneakers. She found the apartment key Blair gave her for the times when she worked late and needed Chloe to check on her friendly Spaniel. Then she drove her clattery old Cavalier to Blair’s building; the Boss paid her rent but he wasn’t going to spring for something as big and obvious as a car, something people could see and about which they could ask questions.

66 Copper met her at the door when she let herself into the apartment, his stubby tail wagging so hard she thought it might break his butt. When she bent down to pat him, he pushed her hands with his muzzle and twisted in appreciative circles around her feet. She found his leash and said, “Walk, Copper?” and he rushed to the front door and danced in tight circles, barking. She shushed him with a finger on her lips. Just like a young mother’s undisciplined toddler, Copper ignored her. Chloe followed a route she’d walked with Blair. Except for when he ducked into a bush or peed on a post, Copper pulled her along, sketching a zig-zag course on the sidewalk, with his nose down and his leash stretched taut. Trying to puzzle out what came next, Chloe was content to follow. As far as she knew, Blair was alone in the world. She was an only child. Her mother was dead, her father in the rest home. Perhaps she had a distant aunt or uncle out there somewhere, maybe a cousin or two, but

67 she’d never mentioned any relatives. Without family, who was supposed to take care of her affairs? Chloe had no idea. Back at the apartment after the walk, Copper led her straight to his food. She didn’t know how much to give him, so she filled a plastic scoop from an enormous white Tupperware container while he tried to push his head between her legs to get at his bowl. While he scarfed down the crumbles and sniffed the floor in search for more, Chloe poked around the apartment. She skimmed through drawers and cupboards, feeling unreasonably guilty at the invasion of her friend’s privacy even though that made no sense. The entire goal was to find someone to officially notify. Her heart wasn’t into the search and after ten or fifteen minutes she gave up and went to the refrigerator in hopes of finding breakfast. She could resume the hunt more thoroughly later. Or not. Lacking any better ideas, she supposed she could

68 simply call the police and let them deal with it. The situation and what came next was a complete mystery to her but she guessed it was something with which the authorities would be familiar. She held the door open and peered in and decided she might as well take home what food there was. Baby spinach, tomatoes, avocados… It would only go bad if she didn’t take it. She took a suitcase from a closet and put three bottles of wine in it, along Blair’s Roomba. Chloe wasn’t a big fan of housework, the Roomba worked surprisingly well and Blair didn’t need it anymore. As for the wine, she felt confident Blair would understand if she drank it. Chloe stowed the suitcase and food in the Cavalier’s trunk. An open box of dog biscuits went behind the driver’s seat, in case she decided to take Copper to the park. She returned to the apartment and flopped down on Blair’s couch with the remote control in one hand. She surfed past the morning talk shows she

69 normally would have slowed for, in search of more details about the disaster. Copper lay down on the sofa beside her, put his head on his paws and fell asleep. Within minutes someone knocked on the door. Copper’s head came up and he barked. Chloe called, “Who is it?” “The Super.” “Fuck,” she muttered. She pushed herself to her feet with a tired sigh and opened the door a crack, keeping the narrow gap covered with her feet and legs because Copper was doing his best to push his way out of the apartment, as curious about the Super’s visit as Chloe. “You’re not Blair. I need to speak to her about her dog.” His tone immediately put her back up. “She’s not here.” “Where is she? I need to speak to her about the dog—” “You said.”

70 “—and the way it carries on. I’m not going to put up with it barking. People, other residents, complained last night. I’ve spoken to her about this before.” “Blair wasn’t here last night. I’m sure the dog—” “I don’t care. Who are you anyway? And, why are you here?” Grinding her teeth in an effort not to go Aliens Resurrection on him, Chloe said, “Blair gave me a key.” Her breath hitched but she didn’t tear up or look away. The Super tilted his head and his eyes narrowed, as if realizing something bigger than he currently understood was happening. He said, “Where is she? If she’s not here, the dog can’t stay.” That’s when the entirety of Copper’s situation hit Chloe. She’d only thought as far ahead as taking him for a morning walk and feeding him some breakfast. But, just as someone

71 needed to take care of mundane details, like cancelling the cable and phone, someone also had to look after the dog. The Super looked at her expectantly. “Was there something else?” Chloe asked. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. “No? Then, leave me alone.” She slammed the door and walked back to the sofa. Possibly he expected her to apologize and tell him she’d take the dog when she left, or somehow ensure Copper never barked again, but the day was going badly already and she refused to let the man make it worse. Back on the couch, with Copper’s head on her thigh, nuzzling her hand whenever she stopped rubbing the soft brown and white fur on his back, she thought hard about what to do next. As much as she loved him, Copper couldn’t stay with her. She didn’t know the first thing about owning a dog, although she

72 didn’t think there was much to it—walk him, feed him, pay attention to him. But, he couldn’t stay in her apartment. It was too small and pets were forbidden. She supposed she could move into Blair’s place, take over the lease, although she wasn’t sure if that was possible or how long it would take to arrange. And, if she was being honest, her personal situation was temporary at best. Next month, or the month after, at some point in the future, she and the Boss would come to an end. Hopefully a peaceful, amicable end, but Chloe was under no illusions as to the permanence of their arrangement. Where would she go afterward? What would she do? Ideally, the Boss’s wife would refer her to some friends. One design project would turn into another. That wouldn’t happen if the woman found out about the affair. And, Chloe thought Anchorage might be too close to the Boss’s wife and the likes of Eric Dalrymple if she and the Boss parted on unfriendly

73 terms. Pet ownership represented an enormous complication to a life that at the moment, felt like something she’d screwed up spectacularly. She realized she was spending a great deal more time thinking about Copper than Blair and had an idea the loss of her friend was too big to comprehend. The back part of her brain told her the enormity of Blair’s death would eventually shrink to something she could understand. Before that happened, it had latched onto a problem she could potentially manage. When Copper looked at her out of those wet and trusting Spaniel eyes, only one viable idea had come to mind. Two really, but option two wasn’t something she wanted to think about. “Let’s go, you,” she said. Copper jumped off the couch. He loped to the door, toenails clicking on the tiled floor. He did his circular dance

74 routine while waiting impatiently for Chloe to tie her shoes. Apparently, two walks before noon was a good morning. She talked to him as she drove to the Boss’s house, told him Blair wasn’t coming back and they were both going to miss her and they were both going to have to make adjustments. “In your case,” she said, “You’re going to spend your time with children now. And, I think you’ll like that. They play more than us boring adults, you see?” She looked at him and nodded and with her tired distraught imagination running riot, she saw him give her a trusting, albeit reluctant nod in return… More playtime sounds fun, but I’m not sure about making a change. I love my human. She smells good. We take long walks and play in the park together and afterward she gives me cookies, which are okay, and sometimes food off the table, which is something special…

75 At the Boss’s place, Chloe told him to wait in the car, she wouldn’t be long, and she cracked the window several inches, so he didn’t get too hot. That was something she did know about dogs. A few minutes later, sitting opposite each other, with the Cadillac sized desk between them, the Boss said, “Why are you here, Chloe? I’m very busy.” His words were clipped, business-like, but she’d heard that tone before when he had a great deal on his plate and although abrupt, it was not unfriendly. She plunged in without hesitation, unaware in her distress of how poorly timed her visit was and therefore how unreceptive he’d be. …Several stone-faced detectives were asking him variations of the same question: “This was a charter you arranged. Why weren’t you on it?” His wife kept telling him how she always said, ALWAYS, that boats were unsafe.

76 Reporters were requesting statements. Business associates, concerned about how the disaster affected their interests, wouldn’t stop calling… Chloe said, “One of my friends was a waitress on the charter. Garnet hired her. She had a dog. It needs a place to go. I thought your grandkids—” “Stop right there,” he said, holding up a hand. “That’s not happening. Not a chance. They’re too young, on top of which, they’re irresponsible brats. I love them because I have no choice. A dog around here? Guess who’d end up walking the little fucker, cleaning up after him?” Chloe’s mouth hinged open. “I thought—” “That’s right. Me. And, I’m not going to do it.” Guilt and grief and lack of sleep caught up with her. She started slowly but picked up a head of steam in a hurry and was

77 soon rambling on about Blair, and a whole jumble of other thoughts she should have kept to herself… …and I pushed her into this job, and I heard Dalrymple talking about how the boat might have mechanical issues and what do you know, it has mechanical issues. What are the chances? That weirdo, who by the way, looks like an extra out of a Martin Scorsese movie, probably rigged it to blow up or something— where that idea came from Chloe didn’t know. Sabotage hadn't crossed her mind until the words fell from her mouth— —and now Copper doesn’t have a human because I don’t have the space, my building doesn’t allow pets, and even if it did, I’m no fit mother for a dog, and if the grandkids don’t take him, who will? The only other option is Adopt-a-Dog, and everyone knows that place is nothing but death row for dogs.

78 Okay, that might not be true, but how long do they keep dogs that don’t go to a new home? How long before they put them down? He might not have enough time. Someone might not come for him. The Boss listened impassively through the entire meltdown, his elbow on the blotter, his chin in the cup of his hand, and when she finished with several gulps and assorted sniffles, he said, “Are you finished?” “Yeah. I guess.” “Then, you do what you have to do, Chloe. He’s not coming here.” So, she did. She drove to Adopt-A-Dog. Copper knew something was wrong because he sat hunched over on the passenger seat, whimpering and watching her out of sad drooping eyes, this dog who thought car rides were exciting,

79 if all the nose smudges on the passenger window of the Cavalier meant anything. She pulled into the parking lot and shut off the car and for an unknown while, she sat there with both hands on the steering wheel, staring at the mural on the whitewashed wall of the Adopt-A-Dog building. Maybe the cartoon mutt loping through the tall grass, a cheesy grin on his humanized dopey dog face, really did represent the fate of the dogs that came here. It wasn’t impossible. Some had to end up on a farm in the country, right? Eventually, she found Copper’s leash. She pushed open the spring clasp with her thumb. He stretched out his neck and gave her hand a lick and a nuzzle while she searched for the loop on his collar. With the leash hooked, she pushed open her door and said, “Come on, then.” For the first time that day he refused to move and she didn’t try very hard to force him. She slammed the door shut and sat

80 there clutching the wheel again, bawling her eyes out until someone rapped on her window, scaring a short scream out of her. She looked into the concerned eyes of a man staring down at her, his forehead furrowed in worry. She gulped in a couple of deep breaths and sniffed loudly and wiped away tears from both eyes with the heel of her hands. Then, knowing she looked a mess—no sleep, no makeup, a face blotchy with tears—which was likely the reason the man stopped in the first place, she rolled the window down a couple of inches. “Miss, do you need help?” he said. “Is everything all right?” Chloe said, “I can’t leave him here.” The man said nothing for a few seconds. A woman stood behind him, an expression of both concern and distrust on her face. Flanking her tightly were two young girls, maybe six and

81 four, eyes wide with the mystery of it all. He said, “What’s his name?” “Copper.” “Cocker Spaniel, right? Why you dropping him off? Is he good with kids?” “He’s a real sweetie. You want to meet him?” “Spaniels are always good with kids,” he said, answering his own question. He looked over her shoulder and the woman shrugged. “Sure. Let’s meet him.” Chloe opened the door and repeated, “Come on, you,” and this time Copper bounced from the passenger seat to her lap and then down to the parking lot pavement, the leash towing along behind him. The man squatted down, one hand on his thigh for balance, the other outstretched for Copper to sniff, which he obligingly did. “Hello there, Copper.” He put his hand on the dog’s head

82 and gave it a scratch and then he rubbed Copper’s ears and said, “Aren’t you the good boy?” When he stopped, Copper nosed his hand for more. The man stood and looked at his wife again. Both little girls stared back and forth between their parents. One parent did or said something—Chloe didn’t see any special signal—but without warning both girls ran toward Copper with twin yells of pleasure and he responded with a couple of happy barks. His rear end wiggled and then it was shaking full speed, and the children were petting him and he was giving them slobbery dog kisses that made them squeal in delight. Chloe grabbed a couple of biscuits from the package on the floor behind her seat. She said to the two girls, “You want to give him a cookie? He likes these.” The man said, “Well, we came for a dog. Have you got any kind of paper work?”

83 Which is one thing Chloe did find in Blair’s place when she went through the drawers, and amazingly had the forethought to bring with her. They traded information and sorted out the details. Then the man drove away with his wife, Copper on the back seat between the two girls, and if he looked back at her with a question in his eyes, Chloe wouldn’t have seen it because she didn’t watch for long. She was crying again at this second loss coming so fast on the heels of Blair’s. Once again, the only sound in the Mustang was the drone of the tires on the road and the muffled rumble of the engine. Jake said nothing and Chloe played with her hair. Eventually, she said, “Remember that movie, The Fugitive, when the train derails? The scene goes on and on and on?” Jake said, “Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones. The longest train crash in movie history. Great film.”

84 “That’s the one,” Chloe said. “Looking back, the fishing charter is when it all came off the tracks for me. Copper was the final big spray of dirt and trees, just before the train comes to a full stop. Dalrymple didn’t want me hanging around. I think the Boss was probably getting tired of me too. So, what do I do? The worst possible thing. I make a big scene in his office, only I don’t carry on like an irrational girlfriend. No. I vocalize all kinds of strange connections and make all kinds of strange accusations. I might as well have slammed the trunk lid shut myself.” The tears had stopped. She dried her eyes again and was surprised to feel a comfortable sort of calm take the place of the jittery guilt she’d lived with for so long. She said, “I went to the rest home. I told them Blair had been part of the boat disaster. Who else would tell them? Hopefully her father is so far gone he doesn’t notice she’s missing.”

85 “You think that’s the case?” “She told me he usually calls her by her mother’s name. Good thing I spoke to them when I did, too. It was only a day or two later I ended up in the trunk.” Jake said, “So, Copper got some children to call his own. The Boss and his wife got a renovated house and I’m guessing a whole bunch of unwanted attention from the law. And, Dalrymple got dead. It all worked out. Sort of. I guess?” He rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his hair rather uncertainly, Chloe thought. He said, “I’m almost ready for a break. Next place we see, I’ll buy you a cup of that slop you call coffee, if you want.” “That would be nice.” He reached across the console and grabbed her free hand. He squeezed and she squeezed back. “Thanks for telling me all

86 that. Probably wasn’t easy.” Then he said, “There’s only one other thing I’m curious about, Chloe.” “What’s that?” “Why are your feet on my dashboard?” The End

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