“Yeh, took breakfast with me wife this mornin’. She likes me ta cook least once a week.”
Evan nodded and watched as an older golden lab rounded the front of the van and sat beside Jacob’s feet. He stared at the dog, feeling his jaw loosen.
“Somethin’ the matter?”
“Is that your dog?”
Jacob glanced down at the lab. “Oh yeh, her name’s Messy, on accounta how hard she was ta potty train.”
He patted the old dog on the head, and she licked her chops once and began to pant. Jacob looked at Evan again.
“Ya sure yer okay?”
“Yeah, I could’ve sworn I saw a dog almost exactly like her the other day.”
“Wasn’t a picture out at the Fin, was it?”
“What?”
“Oh, I jest wondered if maybe ya seen one of Dan’s pictures. See, we each got a pup from the same litter, both love ta duck hunt and all that. Picked ’em up outside a town almost thirteen years ago from a gal who used ta breed ’em. Ol’ Mess here was a right fine retriever up till her hip went bad a year or so ago.”
“Dan had a dog like her?” Evan asked. In his mind he saw the golden lab sliding its bloody hind end through the grass, its baleful look before it vanished into the trees.
“Oh yeh, name was Honey B. Beautiful dog, she was, outstandin’ hunter.”
“Did something happen to her?” Evan asked. The ground was unsteady beneath his feet, and he wondered if it was there at all.
Jacob gave him a funny look, something between puzzlement and distrust.
“What makes ya ask that, boyo?”
“Did something happen to her legs?”
“Aye. I believe it was some sorta accident, if I remember properly. Dan was particular broken up about it. Pup was only a few years old then. Died right there on the island, and Dan buried her down behind the house, ’neath a big pine.”
Evan put a hand out to steady himself on the van, the cold, wet steel bringing him back like a slap. Jacob had asked something, and he looked at him as though from the opposite end of a long tunnel.
“What?”
“Are ya okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“All right. I hate ta run, boyo, but I’m supposed ta be out on the lake soon. Rotten business on a day like today,” Jacob said, shooting a look at the sky.
“Why, what’s going on?”
“That young girl that killed herself? Well, her father went missin’ a few days ago. Someone on the opposite side of the lake found his boat beached up in some weeds, empty, with the anchor rope cut. They’re fearin’ the worst, I’m afraid.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeh, terrible business. Poor Tessa’s a mess, medicated ta the gills.”
Evan thought he might faint. His muscles were jelly, his bones brittle clay.
“Where’s Shauny this mornin’? I never see the two of ya apart.”
“He’s with, uh ...” Evan was sure he would vomit all over Jacob’s shoes. “He’s with Selena Belgaurd, the psychologist.”
Jacob frowned. “Psychologist?”
“Yeah, she’s got a practice on the other end of town, near the park.”
Jacob shook his head. “Only shrink I know of is old Doc Delly, and he’s been shut down a number of years now, mumbles ’n’ drools more’n anythin’ these days. Kinda ironic.”
A cold finger traced its way down Evan’s back, something monstrous rising in his mind.
“You’re joking, right? I have her card. She said her father and you had a falling-out over some land deal years ago.”
Jacob remained silent, watching Evan like an animal on display at the zoo chewing at a weak spot in the fence. Evan dug out his wallet, his hand shaking so badly it took him the better part of a minute to find Selena’s card. When he pulled it free, he felt a click, like a cord coming unplugged somewhere in his mind. It echoed to the point that he could hear nothing else as he stared at the soiled piece of paper with Selena’s handwriting on it, the other side blank except for a few dark stains.
Jacob gently took it from his fingers, turning it around so he could read it before glancing up at him.
“This a joke, boyo?”
“No, why?”
“This is yer phone number, the number out at the Fin. I’ve called it a hundred times if I’ve called it once. Now what’re you playin’ at?”
Evan snatched the scrap of paper, turning it over a few times, hoping through sheer will that the business print would appear each time he flipped it.
“No ... no, this isn’t right. She’s a psychologist over by the park, she’s—” His mind scrambled as though sliding off a sharp cliff. “She was with us the day you stopped by in the boat. We were fishing, remember?”
Evan waited, watching Jacob straighten up. His lined face became tight, and his eyes narrowed, a glint in them like December sunlight on steel.
“Boyo, there was no one in that boat but you and yer son.”
26
The mist solidified into fog halfway across the lake and clung to his skin like a spider web.
Evan continued to brush at his arms, knowing full well nothing but moisture was there. There was no wind, and for the first time he wished there was some, to blow away the fog so he would be able to see the Fin. Instead the fog hung in the air, obscuring everything past fifty yards.
A strange sound floated over the water twice, a chilling keening that rose and fell like the wind he wished for. The third time it came, he realized he was making it, deep in his chest. Tears steadily ran down his cheeks, and had been since Jacob caught him before he fell to the ground. He remembered saying something about calling the police and then running, Messy’s barks following him into the mist.