Welcome to J. Q. Starmer's adult story, Jeremy's Cabin

The wind picked up suddenly, causing all manner of plant life to sway with exaggerated suppleness. Thunder rumbled loudly from the storm-blackened sky overhead. For the first time, Pete noticed a tiny light flickering across the lake. Moments later, heavy raindrops pounded the roof of the front porch, shutting off visibility and forcing Pete and Mandy inside, away from the driving wet.
The next morning Pete discovered his yard transformed into a river of mud. “I think you'd better stay inside today, girl,” he told Mandy, leaning down to scratch the small beagle behind one ear before gently nudging her away from the front door. Mandy's cries of protest wailed to a crescendo as Pete gingerly picked his way to his jeep.
Easing his vehicle into its accustomed parking spot at Dixon Computer Services, Pete noticed for the hundredth time the multiple oil stains coating the empty space next to him. Moses McBane had been dead for more than two months, but the stains left behind by his old pickup truck looked as fresh as the last day he’d parked there.
George Dixon glanced up over his reading glasses when Pete pushed open the glass door with a quiet swoosh. “That new place of yours keep its electricity last night?” asked the older man, sitting down his coffee mug to turn another page of the morning newspaper. George ran a reputable computer service and repair business. PC owners in the tiny town of Stonesville depended greatly on the knowledge and skill of his servicemen. And so did George, who, if the truth were known, had a very limited knowledge of the machines.
“No problem,” Pete replied. “But you should see the yard.”
In the break room, Pete fetched his own cup from the drain by the sink and filled it with coffee. Today's work was already cut out for him: the upgrading and parts replacement of four computers, all belonging to The Stonesville Library: their complete stock.
By four o'clock that afternoon, the library computers were all tuned up and ready to go. Pete loaded them into in his jeep and clocked out for the day. “Maybe we can grab that beer tomorrow,” he said to George on his way out.
“Tomorrow for sure.” George threw up his hand in farewell and reached over to silence the ringing phone.
Pete arrived home around five-thirty, much to the relief of Mandy, who barely acknowledged him as she bounded down the steps and raced round the house and out of sight. While Pete sat on the steps and waited for her return, he surveyed his ruined yard. “What a mess,” he muttered.
The faintest smell of burning wood caused Pete to glance up and peer across the lake. Dense, thick woods reached all the way down to the water's edge, to a small abandoned dock, gray and weathered, a replica of Pete’s own aged pier. Once again he caught a whiff of smoke.
***
“I think someone's set up camp across the lake,” said Pete.
George lowered his mug of beer. “Jeremy’s cabin?” His expression was pensive.
Pete returned George's thoughtful look with one of his own before memory cleared. “Oh, yeah, the cabin. Is that old place still there? How long ago was that?”
George reached for the pitcher. It was a slow night at Charlie’s Tavern. “Jeremy Lloyd built it right out of high school and lived there for twelve years; right up until the night they disappeared. That’s been more than twenty years now.”
As George slowly refilled the mugs, he confessed softly, “I miss Moses.”
For nearly eighteen years Moses McBane had served as the custodian of Dixon Computer Services; he’d kept the place spotless. One warm spring evening Moses had stopped by Charlie's to have his usual corned beef on rye and cup of hot tea, before heading home to his small, neat and tidy trailer, where he’d slipped into bed and peacefully died in his sleep.
The huge wooden front door to Charlie's swung open as three more customers entered. One was Pete's good friend, Rick Lawson, who quickly spied him and started for their table. The other two were Martin Lloyd and Lanny Phillips. Both headed for the bar, but not before Martin caught Pete's eye with a grimacing glare.
“Hey, I was hoping you would still be here,” said Rick, pulling up a chair. “How about staying long enough to have some dinner with me. I'm famished!” Rick was still in his suit and tie. “How about you, George? Feel like eating out tonight?”
George was eyeing the bar. “Martin still giving you trouble over your dad's boat?” he asked Pete.
“Not lately.”
Rick drummed his fingers on the table. “That guy's such a loser. He's too stupid for his own good.”
George sighed. “That's what makes him dangerous.”
Pete grinned at George. “I sold the boat to Martin on his own terms. I tried to tell him to have it checked out first, but he was in too big of a hurry. Dad hadn't used that boat in over six years; it was bound to need a lot of work. Now Martin wants his money back, but like I told him, a deal’s a deal.”
“Well, watch out. I don't trust him. He's apt to cause trouble when he can't get his way.” George stood up to leave. “In answer to your question, Rick, no thanks, I think I'll be getting on home. Pete, see you in the morning.”
“Roger that, George.”
“See ya, George,” said Rick. “So, what do you say, Pete? Shall I go place an order?”
“Sure. Let’s have the usual: the usual being the all-meat pizza Mack Forrester's wife, Margie, prepared regularly in the tavern's kitchen. The food at Charlie’s was the best in Stonesville.
Rick soon returned with a mug of his own and helped himself to the half full pitcher of beer. “Martin told me to tell you he's hauling the boat to your house this weekend, so have his money ready.” Rick placed his coat on the back of his chair and loosened his tie.
“Rough day at the office?” said Pete, feigning interest. He glanced around at Martin and Lanny. Both were watching him with sour expressions, a couple of small-town thugs with nothing better to do on a Friday night. Pete turned his attention back to Rick.
“Actually, it was pretty good,” Rick replied. “I was out of the office most of the time. Had to check on some customers in Triton and Kipling. It was a beautiful day to be on the road.”
“So, I take it the insurance business is still thriving.”
“Oh, you bet.” Rick leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms high, and asked, “So, what are you going to do if our buddy, Martin, shows up with your boat tomorrow?”
“It's not my boat. He bought it free and clear. I don't plan to do anything.” Rick nodded casually. “That reminds me,” added Pete. “Would you want to help me reseed the yard again? That washout the other night wiped it clean.”
“I’ll think about it.”
The food soon arrived. Not long after that, Martin and Lanny left their posts at the bar and disappeared out into the waxing gloom, their black leather jackets much too hot for the season.
An hour more and Pete was aiming his jeep down the gravel driveway to his home. A faithful Mandy anxiously waited for the engine to die before racing down the steps to meet him. “Hey, girl,” Pete called fondly, getting out and closing the door. Mandy barked and danced in circles.
Dusk had all but turned into night. A gentle pat to Mandy's head and her barking ceased. Pete stood for a moment and listened to the sounds of nighttime on Ritter's Lake. “You'd love it here, Pop,” he whispered. “It's just like you said it would be.”
For years, Jack Bradshaw dreamt of building a log house on his secluded two-acre lakefront property. Making plans for retirement from Piedmont Power and Light, he'd talked of selling the house in town where he and his wife, Frannie, had lived all their married life, until her death when Pete was fourteen.
“I'll have complete privacy,” Jack would say. “Living with nature. I can fish myself senseless.” Then, one day six months ago, while browsing the canned fruit and vegetable isle of Ted's Country Grocer, Jack had keeled over from of a sudden massive heart attack.
Pete started for the house, glad to feel solid ground beneath his feet again and not the slippery mud he'd encountered two days ago. At the top of the steps, he turned to gaze across the peaceful water of the lake and immediately noticed movement along its surface. What must have been a tiny boat or canoe was slowly moving along the opposite bank. Unlocking the front door Pete made his way through the darkness to the kitchen, where he located his binoculars in a storage cabinet above the refrigerator. Quickly returning to the porch he tried to find the small craft, but by then, it had vanished.
***
“So, you think someone's staying across the lake.” said Rick, swinging slowly back and forth in the porch swing, while he surveyed the hard work he and Pete had done on the small front area. “I don't know why you want to grow grass. Now you're just going to have to mow it.”
Pete grinned and reached for his beer. The yard had been part of his father's plans.
“Shall we go over and investigate?” Rick asked.
“I don’t know. The Lloyds still own that land.”
“Oh, I see. You’re worried Martin Lloyd might get angry?” Pete’s grin only widened. “Come on,” said Rick. “You've gotten my curiosity up. Besides, you owe me for helping you with your yard.”
The quiet, battery-operated motor took the tiny boat and its two passengers across the lake at a speedy five miles an hour. “Boy! It's a solid thicket over here,” said Rick, gazing up at the dense woods. Pete tied the boat to one of the landing posts of the old dock and he and Rick began the uphill trek.
The small cabin came into view as soon as the ground began to level off. Pete and Rick crouched quietly to observe. Two missing windowpanes had recently been covered with heavy cardboard; the remaining glass sparkled like new. The small front porch had been swept clear of debris; an old wooden chair set facing the lake. “Looks like our guy's not home,” whispered Rick, pointing to a shiny new padlock securing the front door. Even so, he and Pete approached with caution.
Rick stepped onto the porch, cupped his hands around his eyes, and peered through the window. “Not much to see,” he reported. “But someone's staying here, all right. The bed's been made. There’s food on the shelf by the stove. I can see a table and some chairs; that’s about it. Looks really clean, though.”
Pete carefully made his way around the side of the cabin. In back, he found a burned-out campfire and an empty clothesline. Through the trees, he could see an outdoor lavatory. The tiny building appeared much less sturdy than the cabin. Its dark weathered form leaned at an angle; it's door stood slightly ajar. Staring into the dim crevice caused by the open door, an uneasy feeling began to creep over Pete. Cautiously, he took a step forward but stopped when he saw the door slowly close.
Turning around, Pete walked back to the front porch where Rick still stood, staring through the window at the cabin's interior. “Come on,” Pete said in a low voice, “I think someone's here.” Rick dropped his hands and glanced around. “Come on,” said Pete a second time. “Just come on.”
Pete and Rick didn't speak until they were on their way back across the lake. “Who did you see?” Rick asked, scanning the woods to Pete's back. “Was someone coming?”
“No, I think somebody was hiding in the outhouse.”
Rick looked amused. “Oh,” was all he said.
“Shut up,” replied Pete.
***
“You two could have been hurt going over there, you know.” George put down his sandwich and stared hard at Pete.
“Don't worry yourself a new wrinkle, George. I agree with you. I don't plan on going back.” Pete picked at his tuna salad. “So, tell me what happened over there.” A tiny leaf from the large oak under which they sat drifted down to land in Pete's food. Pete absently picked it out and tossed it onto the picnic table.
“My first wife, Gladis, was driving home from her mother's late one evening when a logging truck came barreling out of a side road and struck her, killing her instantly,” said George. “I was pretty devastated.”
Pete, who’d never known there was a first wife, was struck speechless.
“It was about five months later that I first crossed the lake,” continued George. “My problem was a couple of skunks. They had my shrubbery stinking to high heaven. Left their mark on everything, including my dog, Jimmy.
“Jeremy earned money trapping bothersome animals and reptiles, and removing them from people’s property. So when I couldn’t stand those smelly varmints any longer, I took the small boat Jeremy kept at the dock, the same dock that’s at your place now, and rowed over to see him.”
“He built the dock on my land?”
“Sure did. Jeremy built two, one on your side and one on his. He kept a small rowboat at each, one for himself to travel back and forth and one for visitors. Back then, the only way to get to the other side of the lake was either by boat or swim.”
“So, did Jeremy get the skunks?”
“Yes, sir! He came back with me that very night. It took him three more to catch those scoundrels but he did.” George grinned to himself. “And that was the start of our friendship.”
George absently pulled a splinter free from the table and flicked it away. “The next summer Florence Stevens showed up. I’m sure part of my attraction to her was the fact I’d been so lonely after losing Gladis. But you can ask anyone who remembers, she was most easy on the eyes.” George smiled thoughtfully. “I thought Florence was about the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“She’s the lady who vanished with Jeremy?”
“That’s right. She’s the lady.”
George sighed and reflected a few moments before continuing. “The first time I saw Florence, she was working behind the bar at Charlie’s. She’d been in town about a week. I thought she might be part Indian, but when I asked, she laughed and said no, her father was Italian. That's where her raven hair and tawny skin came from.”
Tawny? Now there was a word Pete hadn’t heard his boss use before. “A truly handsome woman, she was,” continued George, “in her mid-twenties, independent and free; I was smitten the moment I saw her. And there for a little while, I think she liked me too. We even went out a few times. Then Florence met Jeremy.”
George noticed Pete glance at his watch and casually eyed his own. “Good gracious! We're late,” he cried, jumping up and gathering the remnants of his lunch. “I have John Perkins, the salesman from PC Tech, dropping by this afternoon. Gotta go!”

After work, Pete decided to stop by the local chicken take-out for dinner. The delicious aroma of fried bird, hashbrowns, and homemade biscuits had his mouth watering by the time he pulled his jeep down the gravel driveway to his house. His father's old boat set in the middle of the freshly reseeded yard.
Pete stepped out of the vehicle, unable to believe his eyes. The patch of ground was again in ruins. Giant tire tracks from Martin's truck, along with those from the boat's trailer and Martin's own heavy footprints covered a great deal of the small area. “Bastard!” Pete spat the word as he turned toward the house to look for Mandy. “Mandy,” he called loudly. “Mandy, come here, girl.”
Turning back, Pete stepped up onto the trailer and peered over into the boat’s interior, spying the faintly visible initials he’d craved into its woodwork when he was nine. For that little indiscretion, he'd spent two weeks without television, and despite his father's best efforts to wax over and smooth away the carving expertise of his son, Jack Bradshaw had never been able to entirely erase the markings.
Pete jumped down and called once more for Mandy. A trace of worry had begun to form in his mind when he suddenly heard a loud yelp and the familiar jingle of her collar. Moments later, the little dog rounded the corner of the house and sped towards him, her four short legs a blur.
After much hugging and barking, Pete retrieved the box of chicken from the jeep and started for the house. At the bottom of the steps Mandy stopped and stared toward the woods; a low soft growl vibrated from her throat.
Following her gaze, Pete peered into the thick stand of timber and saw nothing but foliage and shadows. Then one of the shadows moved. “Come on, girl,” commanded Pete, taking the steps two at a time, unlocking the door, pushing his way in, and locking the door behind him. Once again, he fetched his binoculars.
From the bedroom window, Pete opened the blinds as much as he dared and peeked out. The woods stood quiet and still; no more moving shadows. For a brief second something glittered, sunlight off metal. He’s got a gun, thought Pete, aiming his binoculars in that direction. Even with the powerful glasses, Pete could not spot who might be crouching among the trees and plants, and wondered if the stranger was wearing camouflaged clothing.
Another flash of metal and a shot rang out, then another. Pete instinctively fell to the floor. Mandy rushed over to snuffle his face. Minutes slowly ticked by.
The phone rang. Pete reached up for it and noticed the blinking message light. “Hey, man, how's the solitude out your way?” asked Rick “Mind if I swing by for a while?” Pete cautioned his friend regarding armed, uninvited company in the woods and hung up. Getting up from the floor, he continued to scan the woods for several more minutes before giving up on spotting the intruder.
Hitting the button to retrieve his messages, Pete was not surprised to hear Martin Lloyd’s voice, saying he wanted a complete refund for the return of the boat. “You can find me at Charlie’s tomorrow after work,” Martin smirked. Pete swore as he punched the erase button.
A short time later, Rick's truck engine could be heard winding its way along the road. Mandy perked up her ears. “It's okay, girl. That's just Rick.” Mandy's look to Pete was a questionable one. “Honest, it's okay.” Moments later, Rick's dusty blue pickup roared into view. Pete and Mandy stepped out onto the long front porch to greet him.
Rick got out of the truck grinning. “Well, I see Martin's a man of his word.”
“Yep,” replied Pete. “Only a day late.”
Rick shot a quick glance at the woods. “You think our friend’s still in there?”
Pete watched Mandy calmly trot to the boat and begin sniffing the wheels of its trailer. “Doubtful.”
Rick nodded and turned to stare at the boat. “You suppose he was just over here being curious, like we were?”
Pete remembered the sound of nearby gunshots and answered, “More like sending a message: don’t come back!”
Rick nodded again and asked, “So, what's the plan with this boat?”
“Martin left a message to meet him after work tomorrow at Charlie's with his money.”
Rick shook his head slightly. “Tell me that's not your plan.”
“That's not my plan.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“No.”
Dealing with Martin Lloyd could be tricky. After all, he was a Lloyd, and the Lloyds had pull in Stonesville. Martin's father, Bert, Jeremy Lloyd’s older brother, owned, among other things, a large logging company. Over the years, his money and family status had afforded him the luxury of carrying a lot of people in his back pocket.
“I could contact Sheriff Trooper,” Pete suggested.
Rick shook his head again. “That will only make Big Bert mad at you, which will accomplish nothing! You want him mad at Martin; that's when you'll see results.” Rick sat on the bottom step with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, starring at the boat through spread fingers. When he lowered them a minute later, he was smiling.
The plan to hitch the boat to the back of Rick's truck and transport it to the lumber office of Big Bert had Pete feeling a bit wary. But Rick was persistent. “There's nobody around after seven p.m.,” he told Pete. “We can call to make sure. When we get there, I'll handle the guard dog; Major knows me. Big Bert's a client, remember?
“We'll leave the boat in Martin's parking spot. Bert will see it in the morning and confront Martin, who will have to explain why it’s there, which will make Bert plenty irate at his only son for not having had the good sense to check out something as big as a used boat before buying it.”
They waited until almost nine o'clock before making the call to the lumber office. After the fifth ring, the answering machine clicked on. “Okay,” said Rick, “nobody’s home. Let's go.”
Taking the long way, so as to be less conspicuous, the two arrived at the lumberyard parking lot at nine thirty-one. Major was there to greet them. “Stay in the truck,” said Rick, opening the pack of hotdogs he’d confiscated from Pete's fridge. Rolling down the window, Rick called, “Hey, there, Major, buddy. How you doing?” Major perked up his ears at the sound of Rick's voice but remained where he was. “Got something for ya.” Pete eased open the truck door and stepped out. “You hungry?”
The huge German shepherd’s tail began to wag as Rick slowly waved a hotdog back and forth at arm’s length. “That's a good boy. Come and get it.” After sniffing the air a few times, Major trotted over and gulped down the wiener. In less than a minute, the pack had been emptied and Major reduced to putty in their hands. With the boat soon occupying Martin’s private parking spot, Pete and Rick headed out the long entrance, leaving a sorrowfully Major behind.
***
The next evening George and Pete entered Charlie's to find it completely empty, except for Mack, who was tending bar. The two bought their usual small pitcher of beer--the special on tap was Redbone--and took a seat at the same table they'd occupied the previous Friday. Pete sat facing the front door. George positioned himself to Pete's left.
“To Jack,” said George, holding up his mug.
“To Jack.” Pete took an extra big swallow of the bitter beer and immediately knew why it was on special.
“Wonder where your buddy is?” George asked. The front door swooshed open and two out-of-town construction workers strolled in and over to the bar. One of them sat on the stool in Moses McBane's old spot. George chuckled softly and sipped at his drink, making a small face as he did. “I wish I could have been a fly on the wall in that lumber office this morning,” he said, to which Pete nodded. “I bet having a motorboat sitting in his parking lot really made Bert's day.”
The front door opened again and Lanny Phillips, Martin Lloyd's crony, stepped inside but hastily retreated the moment he spied Pete and George.
“Well, what do you make of that?” said George. “I guess now he'll go tell Martin you're here.”
“I suppose the polite thing to do would be to wait for him,” Pete replied.
George laughed and delivered a good solid punch to Pete's shoulder. “I'll put us in an order for some hot fries while we wait.” George returned from the bar with another small pitcher, this time with something more to their liking. A few minutes later the fries arrived, but as yet, no Martin. Pete absently picked at the spicy potatoes.
George watched Pete’s disinterest for a moment, then glanced back over his shoulder. Motioning with an arm out behind him, George remarked, “The first time Jeremy met Florence, we were sitting over there at the corner of the bar. Jeremy had come to town to help Jim Crenshaw get rid of a family of beavers living in his creek. Florence came out from the back carrying a couple of cartons of beer for the icebox. I introduced them to each other and that was that.”
“Were you mad?” asked Pete. The tavern was beginning to fill up, but still no sign of Martin.
“Sure, at first. But it didn't take long to see that those two were destined to be together. It was as though they'd found the other part of themselves when they met; they were truly soul mates.”
“So you and Jeremy remained friends?”
“Florence too.”
“Were you here the night they disappeared?”
George once more glanced behind him. “It was a warm summer evening, a lot like this one. Jeremy and I were having dinner at the bar, while Jeremy waited for Florence to get off work. We were just finishing up when Moses McBane came staggering in, three sheets to the wind.”
“Moses?”
“Yes, Moses. He was a terrible drunk in those days, and this night was no exception. He wanted to buy some of Jeremy's homemade corn liquor. Jeremy only made a case or two a year,” explained George, “to give it away at Christmas, birthdays, occasions like that. Jeremy said his liquor was not for sell. Moses fussed and argued until Charlie finally threw him out.”
George looked toward the spot at the bar Moses had occupied whenever he came in for his cup of hot tea and corned beef on rye. The construction worker was still there. George’s expression seemed melancholy when he turned back to Pete. “Moses sure did a one-eighty from those days; he became a changed man.” When Pete asked the reason, George only shrugged and shook his head.
“That night, after Florence’s shift was over, she and Jeremy walked out the door to her jeep and vanished into the darkness, vanished forever.”
The tavern was becoming noisy. The fries and beer were gone. “Wasn’t blood found at the cabin?” asked Pete.
“A small bit, a few yards from the porch.” Both men sat quietly for a few moments.
“There were no other clues?” Pete asked.
George shook his head. “The cabin itself was locked up tight; the inside, as neat as a pin. Nothing appeared missing. There was just the blood, which turned out to be more puzzling than anything. It could have belonged to either one; they both had the same type. Or it could have belonged to someone else.”
“Like Moses?”
George looked as though he'd been expecting that question. “Moses was found passed out in his room over the service station. Other than a few bruises from bumping into things, he didn't have a scratch on him. The blood wasn’t his.”
“But how about Florence's family? Didn't they come looking for her?”
“No, no one.” George slowly rose from his chair and pushed it under the table. “Florence and Jeremy simply disappeared into the night without a trace, never to be seen or heard from again.”

Pete turned on the jeep's low beams as he started for home. What a puzzle; two people walk out into the peaceful night air and vanish. Passing the dirt road that led to Bert Lloyd's logging office reminded Pete for the first time in almost an hour of his anxiety over a possible confrontation with Martin at the tavern, and he wondered what had happened to cause the other not to show.
Pete turned on the radio to a sports talk show but didn't actually listen. He was thinking about Jeremy, Florence, George, the cabin, and the unexplained blood. Minutes later, he turned off the main road and onto one more primitive, consisting of gravel and dirt. Reaching home, Pete half expected to see his father's old boat, once again, parked in the front yard and was relieved to find it was not.
Pete stepped out from the jeep and gazed across the lake in the vicinity of Jeremy's cabin. Darkness hadn't quite settled in. He could still make out the dock opposite his own. Pete searched the wooded area with his eyes but couldn't spot a single fragment of light. Maybe his neighbor wasn't home.
Turning his back on the lake, Pete stepped through his ruined yard to the front steps. Maybe next spring, he thought, I'll try seeding this patch again.
For the second night in a row, Mandy did not run down from the porch to meet him. Pete called her name repeatedly but to no avail. Mild concern soon turned to greater worry when, after half an hour, she still hadn’t shown. Retrieving a flashlight, Pete began a frantic search of the woods, stopping every few minutes to call out the little dog's name, straining to listen, hoping to hear a bark or whimper that would lead him to her. None came.
The next day, Pete’s haggard and worried face soon became too much for George. “Go home and look for her,” George told him. “Let me know if she turns up.”
The late afternoon sun cast a beautiful reflection off the lake, but Pete took no notice as he returned empty handed to his house that evening. Hot, weary, and anxious, he stepped into the kitchen and hastily grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator, trying not to notice Mandy's food dish with its few remaining dry kernels or her bowl of stale water.
The phone rang. Pete’s stomach lurched at the sound. He answered with a nervous hello.
“It’s me, George. Have you found her?”
“No.”
“Pete, I want you to talk to Sheriff Trooper. Let him handle this.”
Pete replied with a long sigh. What was the use? If Mandy had been purposely taken, then she was probably dead by now, paying with her life for Pete and Rick’s foolish invasion of another’s privacy.
“Pete?”
“All right,” Pete answered reluctantly. “I'll call the sheriff.”
“Want me to come over?”
“I'm okay, but thanks.” Pete said goodbye and hung up. The house was growing dark. Its feeling of emptiness was crushing. Pete felt his throat tighten, his eyes begin to leak. An instant later, Mandy pawed wildly at the screen door.
At first, Pete barely noticed the shadowy figure standing at the edge of the porch; the joy at seeing Mandy was his only focus. Opening the door wide, he sat on the floor and happily allowed the little dog to climb all over him as she merrily yapped and licked his face a hundred times. The stranger stood unmoving.
When Mandy finally bounded off his lap, Pete picked himself up from the floor, and for the first time, observed the person who had returned his pet to him. Wearing what appeared to be an old fishing hat pulled down low over the brow, his face was impossible to see. His cloths consisted of brown khakis and a long sleeve plaid shirt, odd attire for summer. Pete didn't fail to notice the rifle clutched in the crook of the stranger's left arm.
Pete stepped out onto the porch. “Thank you so much,” he said, extending his hand.
The stranger’s head lifted slightly. “You're welcome,” she replied, her handshake firm. “I found your dog late this afternoon, about half a mile from here. Someone had tied her to a tree and bound her mouth shut with duct tape. It was slow going, but I finally got it all off. I used cooking oil.”
Pete started to speak and found he was at a loss for words. “What's your dog's name?” asked the stranger.
“Pete cleared his throat, “Mandy. Her name's Mandy.”
“Well, how do you suppose Mandy ended up the way she did? You got enemies?”
“I guess maybe I do.” But not who I expected, thought Pete, glancing toward the thicket to his right, wondering how Martin had managed to portray a shadow. It had been Martin who’d taken Mandy, in retaliation for the boat showing up in his parking space. And Martin had been the intruder in the woods that day, wanting to witness Pete’s reaction to finding the aging vessel in his front yard. The reason for the gunshots was a complete mystery.
Pete opened the screen door slightly. “Could I invite you in?” The woman didn't move. “I'll put on a pot of coffee.”
Mandy reappeared and pushed her way through the door opening, a favorite squeaky toy lodged firmly in her mouth. Pete reached in and flipped a switch. Two lamps glowed softly from within the house.
The woman leaned down to scratch Mandy's head. When she stood up again, Pete noticed that the slobbery plaything had been placed in her hand. “Do you make your coffee strong?” the stranger asked.
Pete smiled. “Yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact, I do,” and held the door open wide. Smiling as well, the stranger entered, stopping just inside the entry to lean the rifle against the wall before following Pete to the kitchen.
At the table the woman removed her hat and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. The raven-like hair, displaying only a small degree of gray around the edges, had been tied back, away from her face. Her dark eyes appeared friendly, but cautious. “Please have a seat,” Pete told her, opening a cabinet and reaching for the coffee canister. “We'll have hot coffee in just a minute.”
“Your home is very nice,” remarked the woman, looking out from the kitchen into the rest of the house. She still held Mandy's squeaky toy. “It's quite new, isn't it?”
“Yes, I've only been in it a couple of months.” Pete turned from the coffee maker. “This house was my father's idea. He died before he could see it come true. I guess, maybe, I'm living out his dream for him.”
The woman nodded. “What's your father's name?”
“Jack Bradshaw.”
“I knew Jack. I knew your mother, Fran, too.”
“Mom died ten years ago.”
“I'm sorry to hear that. Your parents were good people.”
“My name's Pete, by the way.”
“Hi, Pete. My name's Rose.”
While the coffee maker did its job, Pete put out fresh food and water for Mandy. At the sound of dry food pellets hitting her bowl, Mandy bounced into the kitchen to investigate, sniffing at the food a time or two before turning away. “I doubt she's hungry,” said Rose. “She's had a good portion of stew only recently.” Rose placed the squeaky toy on the floor, where Mandy immediately scooped it up in her mouth and trotted off. Rose pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. “So tell me about this enemy who would take a small dog, bound its mouth shut, tie it to a tree, and leave it defenseless to nature's elements.”
“His name's Martin Lloyd,” Pete replied, placing cream and sugar on the table. He's Bert Lloyd's son.” Rose showed no reaction at the mention of Jeremy's brother. “Martin bought my dad's old boat from me against my advice that he have it thoroughly checked out first. Now he wants his money back.”
“And you told him no,” said Rose. “He sounds like the vengeful type.”
Pete poured coffee into two large mugs and placed one in front of Rose before taking the seat opposite her. “That's right. Martin's nothing but a big, overgrown bully, living within his father’s shadow, and, I might add, doing a very poor job of it.” Pete sipped his coffee.
Rose did likewise. “I saw him return the boat a few days ago,” she said, adding that the coffee was good. “I thought it most doltish to place a boat in the middle of someone's freshly sown yard. What did you do with it?”
“My friend and I hauled it to the logging office and left it in Martin’s private parking space, where he and his father would find it the next day.” Rose sipped quietly at her coffee. “Of course, that resulted in Mandy's disappearance.”
“I see.”
“I thought I would handle the boat incident myself,” Pete explained. “Sheriff Trooper isn't much help when it comes to dealing with a Lloyd.”
“I take it the Lloyds are influential people.”
Pete nodded. “Bert Lloyd is. He's worked hard to build his fortune. And he's done a lot of favors for people along the way.”
“Including the sheriff, I assume.”
“That's right.” Pete rose to retrieve the coffeepot. “Bert's a decent guy and all that, but he's also very shrewd.”
Pete poured the coffee and sat back down. “You're the person staying in the old cabin across the lake, aren't you?”
“Yes,” was all she said.
“I'm sorry if my friend and I bothered you. We were just curious.”
Rose stared hard at the salt and peppershakers and replied, “That cabin's been empty a long time. I understand quite a mystery surrounds it.”
“Yes, ma'am,” answered Pete. “My boss, George Dixon, was telling me about it just yesterday, as a matter of fact.”
“Do you work for George?” Now Rose looked dead-on at Pete.
“Yes, ma'am. He owns a computer business.”
Rose closed her eyes a moment. “He was in hardware back then.”
Pete grinned. “He's still in hardware, only a different kind.” They both laughed.
Mandy wandered back into the kitchen. “How long was your dog missing?” asked Rose, reaching down to scratch Mandy’s back as she passed.
“Since yesterday. I think Martin and his pal, Lanny, came and took her last evening, while I was at Charlie's.”
“Charlie's Tavern?” Rose sat back in her chair. “Is Charlie still there? Does he still make those great corned beef on rye sandwiches?”
Pete smiled. “Charlie sold the tavern about eight years ago to Mack Forrester. He and his wife run it now. But the food is prepared exactly the same as before, no variations. They even use the same menu. Maybe you’d like to go sometime.” Rose shook her head. Pete paused for a moment or two before saying, “Corned beef on rye was Moses McBane’s favorite. Do you remember him?”
Once again, Rose’s eyes avoided Pete's. “I remember,” she answered curtly, as she glanced out the kitchen's front window. “It's getting dark. I must be going.” Rose stood and reached for her hat.
“I'm sorry,” said Pete hurriedly. “If it was something I said....”
Rose held up her hand. “No, Pete. I'm the one who should apologize. You seem like a nice young man, and I'm being evasive. I have my reasons.” Rose pulled the fishing hat back down onto her head. “I don't plan to be here but a few more days. I'd truly appreciate it if you'd not tell anyone about me.”
“Sure, ” answered Pete. “I can't thank you enough for finding and returning Mandy.”
“I'd keep her inside until this thing blows over,” advised Rose. Then after a moment's hesitation, she added, “I’d accept one of those sandwiches as thanks enough. You and Mandy could row across and have supper with me.”
“Sounds great,” Pete replied as they walked to the front door.
Rose collected her rifle and stepped through the screen door to the porch. “Then I'll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Pete watched Florence Stevens head for the small dock where her boat was tied.
***
Buying the sandwiches at Charlie's turned out to be a bit of a hazard. Rick showed up, wanting Pete to stay for dinner. Pete explained his need to check on Mandy. Rick leaned against the bar and watched Pete hand Mack a bill. “I don't think I've ever seen you order corned beef on rye before. Not to mention two of them.” When Pete didn't answer, Rick asked jokingly, “What's up? You got a date or something?”
“Yeah,” replied Pete with a small smile. “Something like that.” Pocketing his change, Pete said goodbye to Rick and Mack and was almost to the door when Martin Lloyd sauntered in; Lanny was right on his heels, as par.
“Hey, man,” whispered Martin, blocking Pete’s exit. “How's your dog?”
“Great,” answered Pete. “How's your boat?”
Pete stepped around Martin, only to be intercepted by a grinning Lanny. “Excuse me,” Pete said to the smaller man, stepping up uncomfortably close. Lanny hesitated only a second before dropping the grin and moving out of the way. Pete passed through the door unhindered and headed for his jeep.

“This is still the best corned beef sandwich I've ever eaten,” declared Rose. “I remember when I used to live off these.” She and Pete were sitting inside the tiny cabin at the small square wooden table. Along with the sandwiches and thick fried potatoes from the tavern, Rose had prepared stewed squash and onions, and even a small apple pie.
Pete leaned past his paper plate for the bottle of red wine Rose had also donated to the meal. “This is good,” he said, pouring a generous amount in both their cups. “I didn't know I liked red wine.”
“It's homemade,” Rose informed him, picking up her cup and offering a toast. “To all our loved ones, past and present.”
“To all our loved ones,” Pete repeated, tapping his paper cup against hers. From the doorway, Mandy yawned loudly and slowly flopped over on her side, her eyes already closing in sleep. Pete gave her a small salute before taking a sip of the red liquid. “Did you make this?” he asked.
“I live in a good spot for growing grapes,” Rose replied.
Pete wanted to ask where that good spot was but didn't. Instead, he said, “George told me Jeremy Lloyd had a craft for brewing good corn liquor,” to which Rose laughed.
“That he did. But he never made it for profit. And he drank very little of the stuff himself. He liked to give it away as presents; dished it out in large mason jars.” Rose smiled at Pete. “I remember your father accepting one or two.”
“No fooling? I always thought Dad was strictly a beer man, and not much of one of those.” They both chuckled. Pete sipped his wine.
Rose picked up her cup but returned it to the table untouched, her expression becoming thoughtful. “Rose was Jeremy’s pet name for me,” she said softly.
Pete waited through almost a minute of silence before asking, “So, where is Jeremy now?”
Rose looked at Pete with a pensive smile. “He's here. He's been here all along. I found Mandy when I visited his grave; a blessing, no doubt.” Pete nodded silently. Rose looked down at her lap. “Jeremy was the only man I ever loved,” she whispered, “and I killed him.”
Pete sat unmoving and waited. Some time passed before Rose returned her gaze to Pete’s face, but when she did, she was ready. “That last night, when we left the tavern, I had never been happier,” she told him. “We were young, we had each other, and the rest of our lives to be together; the world was our oyster.”
Rose sighed and stared toward the doorway. “We parked the jeep across the lake and rowed over in Jeremy's boat like always. I remember a full moon. We were standing just there, on the cabin porch, when Moses McBane stepped out from behind a tree.”
“Moses?”
Rose nodded. “He must have swum over. Roaring drunk, he was, demanding Jeremy sell him some liquor. When Jeremy said no, Moses pulled out a pistol and began waving it around. Jeremy tried to reason with him, but Moses shouted something and pointed the gun. He and Jeremy moved away from the porch.
“I was so afraid,” said Rose. “I looked around and saw a rifle leaning in the corner on the porch. I only meant to wing Moses in the shoulder, simply graze him, make him drop the pistol. I was such a good shot in those days.” Rose closed her eyes in grief. “I pulled the trigger and Jeremy fell. I’d put a bullet straight through his heart.”
Her suffering was hard to witness, the trauma of that night having remained agonizingly fresh. Several minutes passed while Rose sobbed softly into her hands and Pete continued his silent vigil.
When she was able to speak again, her eyes focused on the open doorway and darkness beyond. “I stood there, frozen, trying with all my heart to wish time backwards. I remember Moses screaming at me, asking me what I’d done, telling me I was crazy, that Jeremy was dead, that the pistol wasn’t even loaded. I don’t know how long I stayed that way, nearly catatonic, but after a time I realized Moses was gone and I was alone with Jeremy.”
With a shaking hand, Rose reached for her cup. “I sat with him all that night and part of the next day, waiting for the proper authorities to come. I wrapped him in the new blanket I'd bought. I talked to him. I cried. I apologized over and over. I waited. No one came.
“Late that afternoon, I managed to get Jeremy down to the boat and we rowed one last time to our special place, where I buried him. Then I rowed back to the cabin and watched day turn into night. I was so alone and I suppose, out of my mind. At some point, well after midnight, I rowed the boat across the lake, got into my jeep, and drove out of town.”
“I'm so sorry,” said Pete, sensing the ineptness of his remark. He wanted to ask what happened next. Where did she go? How had she survived? What sort of life had she lived for the past twenty-two years? What had brought her back? But he sensed she was finished; at least, for now.
“I'll be leaving in a few days,” Rose explained at the boat dock. “I would like to see George before I go. Do you suppose he would come visit me?”
“I know he would,” Pete answered. “I could probably bring him by tomorrow evening, if you like.”
“I'll fix supper for the two of you.” Rose gathered up Mandy in her arms and after a quick hug handed her over to Pete, already in the boat. “Thank you,” she said, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Thank you for your friendship.”
Pete nodded and started the tiny motor. “Ditto that, Rose.”
***
“I can't believe what you're telling me!” George and Pete were again sitting at the picnic table outside the office building. “Florence is the one staying at Jeremy's cabin?”
“She's the one. She wants to see you.”
“After all these years. I can't believe it. I simply can't believe it.” George shook his head and wiped absently at a passing insect. “After all this time, she's come back.”
“She wants to explain to you about Jeremy.”
“Bless her, she needn’t bother; I already know.” Pete opened his mouth, only to close it again. George patted his arm. “Moses told me, some five years ago. Poor man, he spent his life blaming himself for Jeremy’s death.”
“Well,” said Pete, still a bit overwhelmed by George’s forthcoming, “that makes two people who blame themselves.”
“No, there’s three of us,” George replied solemnly. “The rifle Florence grabbed off the front porch was mine. I'd brought it over for Jeremy to adjust the sighting, which was off by a good foot or more. There was nothing wrong with Florence's aim.”

Rose met them that evening at the dock. Mandy was the first to alight, rushing to her in happy recognition. George climbed out of the small boat and reached back as Pete handed up a bottle of wine. “I hope you still like red,” George said as he approached, then added, his voice gentle, “It's so good to see you again, Florence.”
Pete busied himself securing his craft.
Rose smiled warmly. “It's been a long time,” she said, reaching out for George's hand. “I've thought of you so often, George.”
After a meal of beef stew, biscuits, and corn on the cob, along with generous servings of red wine, Pete sat outside on the porch while Rose recounted the events that led to Jeremy's death. Once again, the tears flowed.
“It's not your fault,” Pete heard George say. “The rifle you grabbed was mine. It's sighting was the worst I'd ever seen.”
“And Moses never told anyone about what happened, except you?” asked Rose.
“Just me, and even then, not for a very long time.”
Someone sighed.
“Moses is really the reason I decided to come back,” said Rose. “When I left that night, I drove for hours and hours, until I finally reached my parents' home. There, I lived in a cloud of grief for weeks. When I finally emerged, I realized what a mistake I’d made by leaving. I’d turned myself into a fugitive.
“For months I waited to be arrested and returned to Stonesville. But, like the night Jeremy died, no one ever came. After I took a post office box in the village and subscribed to the Stonesville Weekly, I learned our disappearance was a complete mystery.”
Pete decided it was time to rejoin the conversation. Inside, George sat with a protective arm around Rose, who wiped at her eyes when Pete entered. “More wine?” she asked, reaching for the bottle.
“Have you taken the Weekly all these years?” Pete inquired, shaking his head to the wine invitation.
“Yes I have.” Rose turned to George. “I remember when your second wife died. I wanted to get in touch with you then but...,” her voice trailed off.
“It's fine,” George told her, touching her arm lightly, “I understand.”
“A few months ago, when I read Moses McBane had died, I got to thinking how much I'd like to return to the cabin and visit Jeremy's grave. I checked out area maps over the Internet and discovered a new road from Norton's Peak that would bring me near the cabin from the back way.”
“You found that out over the Internet?” asked George, glancing at Pete as if to say, can you believe such a thing?
Rose laughed. “I thought you were in the computer business, George. Don't you surf the Net?” George didn't answer. Rose laughed harder. “Well, that's what happened. That's how I got here. My jeep's parked about a mile away.”
“How long will you be staying?” George asked, his hand still resting on Rose’s arm.
She patted it reassuringly. “I really should leave in the next couple of days.”
At the dock, Pete climbed into the small boat with Mandy and tried to concentrate on hearing night sounds and not Rose and George, who tarried by the bank, talking softly to one another. Frogs and crickets sang and croaked loudly as though in competition. A fish splashed off to his right; this would be a good night for fishing, thought Pete. From somewhere across the lake the start of an engine was barely audible, fading quickly as its driver headed for town.
A minute later, George climbed down into the boat, and Mandy promptly settled herself onto his lap. George absently stroked her head with one hand, while he turned and waved to Rose with the other. “It was good to see her again, wasn’t it?” Pete asked, aiming the boat for home.
“More than I ever thought possible,” replied George.
“Right,” said Pete. The two crossed the lake in silence.
***
Mandy awoke early the next morning. “Saturday morning doesn’t mean a thing to you, does it?” Pete asked the little dog, who whined and jumped up and down on her hind legs. “Okay, girl, I’m up.” Pete fumbled into a pair of shorts. Yawning and combing his hair with his fingers, he shuffled to the front door. The second it was open, Mandy raced outside and down the steps, while Pete headed for the kitchen to start the coffee.
By lunchtime, the necessary household chores had been performed. Sitting on his porch, Pete gazed across the water and wondered what Rose was doing. From the east, he heard a boat’s engine, faint at first, but slowly becoming louder as it approached. A wonderful day to be out on the lake thought Pete, just as his father’s boat came into view.
Now he could hear the engine’s sputter and smell burning oil. Lanny Phillips stood at the wheel as he aimed the boat toward the dock opposite Pete’s. Martin Lloyd squatted at the bow. Neither looked in Pete’s direction.
For perhaps half a minute, Pete watched in disbelief as his father’s old boat was steered along side the small dock. Then quickly shoving Mandy inside the house, Pete raced to his own tiny craft. By the time he crossed the lake, Lanny and Martin were nowhere in sight.
As he neared the cabin, Pete was relieved to see the padlock securely in place on the cabin’s door. He wondered if Rose was hiding and started around back, only to be met by Lanny. “Well, look what we have here,” said Lanny with a chuckle. “Hey, Martin!”
Pete shot a quick glance at the outhouse. Its door was shut tight. “Heavens to Betsy, it’s our old friend, Pete,” said Martin, suddenly stepping in front of him. “You know, I was kind of hoping I’d see you.” Martin slowly brought the barrel of the rifle he was holding up level with Pete’s waist.
Pete tired not to stare at the weapon, wondering if the gun’s safety catch was off. His answer came seconds later when Martin unexpectedly aimed the rifle a little to Pete’s right and pulled the trigger. Both Pete and Lanny jumped at the noise. Martin grinned and bought the rifle barrel back to stare at Pete’s midsection.
“So, what’s going on here, Bradshaw? Who’s staying in the cabin? And don’t say you don’t know. We heard you last night.”
Pete realized he’d heard them as well: the engine starting up from his side of the lake.
“This is Lloyd land, you know,” continued Martin. “Whoever’s staying here is trespassing.” His smile was unnerving. “No upstanding Lloyd can have that. Now, who’s staying here?” The rifle barrel inched upward. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Lanny sidestepped several feet away from Pete. The rifle was now aimed at Pete’s chest.
“What’s going on here?” George spoke the words softly from some distance away. The other three instantly turned to look in his direction; the rifle remained focused on Pete. “Lower that,” demanded George. Martin glanced back at the rifle as though he’d never seen it before. “Right now, Martin.” The gun was lowered and safety catch popped into place.
George approached them slowly. In his arms he carried a large brown paper bag. “I wasn’t expecting company,” he said, stepping in between Martin and Pete. “What’s the rifle for?”
Martin cleared his throat. “Are you the person who’s been staying over here, Mr. Dixon?” George didn’t answer. “Well, this is, uh, Lloyd land. You’re trespassing.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” George replied.
Martin cleared his throat again. “I brought the rifle for protection. You can’t be too careful.”
“So you were using it just now to protect yourself from Pete, is that it?” Martin started to speak, then opted for a shrug instead. George went on. “Yes, Martin, I’m the one staying here, and yes, I know it’s your father’s land. I’ve been meaning to have a talk with him about my renting the cabin for a while. I rediscovered this place recently while visiting Pete. I used to come here often when your uncle was alive.
“I don’t think your father will be too happy to find out you were sporting one of his prize rifles and using it to threaten Pete, do you?” Martin tried to give the expression he didn’t care but failed miserably. George nodded knowingly. “I suppose after the boat incident this is really going to upset Bert.” George gazed around at Lanny, who stood stiff as a board. “The sheriff may need to be called.” Lanny’s skin visibly paled a few more degrees.
Martin finally found his voice. “Listen, Mr. Dixon. We’re sorry. We’re sorry we scared Pete. We were only joking. I’m sure Daddy won’t mind you staying here.” George shifted the paper bag from one arm to the other and waited. “Uh, we’re sorry, Pete,” said Martin. “I was just having some fun, okay?”
Pete followed George’s lead and kept his mouth shut. Martin twisted in the wind. “The boat’s fine,” he remarked to no one in particular. “I’m going to have her painted and the engine overhauled. She’s going to be good as new.”
“I’ll give Bert a call when I get home,” said George matter-of-factly and started for the cabin.
Beginning to sound like a broken record, Martin repeated, “I’m sorry.” George kept walking. Turning to Pete, Martin hissed, “This better go no further than right here, Bradshaw, I’m warning you!”
“Looks like it’s not up to me,” Pete calmly replied. They both watched George unlock the padlock on the cabin door. “But I’ll tell you one thing.” Pete took a step closer to Martin. “You come near my dog again and I’ll personally make sure your Daddy hears about everything that’s happened this week, you can count on that. Then I’ll go see Sheriff Trooper and have a warrant taken out against you for threatening me with a deadly weapon. Bert won’t be able to get you off so easy this time, because I have a reliable witness.” George opened the cabin door and disappeared inside.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Martin, sounding uninterested. “Let’s go.” He and a still-pale Lanny disappeared through the trees. A couple of minutes later the boat’s engine was heard struggling to life.
George reappeared on the small porch. Pete heard a twig snap behind him and glanced back to see Rose approaching through the woods. When she reached him, she gave Pete a tight hug. “Deja vu,” he heard her mutter into his shoulder.
***
From the computer speakers, the sound of an alarm clock announced the arrival of a new email message. Pete smiled to see it was from his boss. The week before, George had announced he was taking a vacation and would be gone all of the following week. “A trip to the mountains,” he'd answered when asked where he was going.
“It's beautiful and peaceful here,” he wrote. “Florence is teaching me how to make wine and use the Internet.” Pete smiled and read on. "Last night we ate baked trout, and drank some of the locally brewed beer, which is a sight better than what you and I get at Charlie’s.” Pete laughed out loud. "There’s a small lake a few miles away where the locals say fishing is fantastic. You’ll have to come, next trip, Pete. See you, George.”
Next trip thought Pete, happy for George he was anticipating a next trip. Leaning back in his chair with hands behind his head, Pete gazed up at the ceiling and smiled. This story could have a happy ending after all. Still smiling, he sat forward, reached for his keyboard, and began his reply.

THe End

Jeremy's Cabin

by

J.Q. Starmer

Paying the Piper

The Call of the Ouija

The Mystery of the Headless Man

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