The tarnished son, p.2
The Tarnished Son, page 2
“Dude…” Liam nodded toward Isabel and Zoe. “Don’t bail on me.”
“If I don’t keep this job, I’ll have to work for my uncle. And there’s no way I’m roofing houses in ninety-degree weather.” Sawyer rubbed a towel over his hair, creating random spikes, then put on his shirt. “Start the boat.”
“Whatever. Get the anchor.” My stepbrother slumped in the driver’s seat and turned the key.
Sawyer did as he was told and was almost to his chair when Liam shoved the throttle lever forward. The boat jumped from the burst of speed, and Sawyer tumbled backward and landed on Zoe and Isabel. The girls squealed as he used his hands to push off their bare thighs to right himself.
With a devilish grin, he said, “Sorry about that, ladies.”
He staggered to his seat and punched Liam in the arm. “Asshole.”
Liam flipped him off as he drank from his beer before pointing the boat toward Williams Bay.
As we bounced across the lake at full speed, my body rose and fell on the bench as if I were riding a bucking bronco. I clenched my teeth to keep from biting my tongue and hung on to a metal bar beside me. Unaffected by the water rodeo, Zoe and Isabel huddled in a deep conversation, probably deciding who would get Liam and who would get Sawyer.
Nearly to the bay, Liam swerved to avoid the wake of a much larger boat, but it caught us anyway, tossing ours as if it weighed nothing.
“Damn it!” Liam dropped the can he held into a cup holder. Grabbing his towel, he soaked up the spilled beer on his chest and the boat’s carpet.
“Heads up,” Sawyer said. “There’s a paddleboarder.”
My stepbrother took a few more swipes around his feet, and in those passing seconds, we closed the distance between the paddleboarder and our boat. Finally reacting, Liam turned sharply to the left, and our wake washed over the unsuspecting man. He wobbled for a breathless moment before pitching over the side and into the lake.
Liam laughed as he slowed the boat now that we were in the bay. “That’ll teach him to stay near the shore. Stupid tourists should know better.”
Zoe and Isabel paused their conversation and looked around, bewildered.
“What’s going on?” Isabel asked.
I didn’t answer, my attention on the man’s bobbing board and the empty water around it. “Where is he?”
Liam reached for his beer and scowled at me impatiently. “Who?”
“The guy that fell off the board. I don’t see him.” My heart rate tripled as seconds passed, and the paddleboarder didn’t break the water’s surface. “I think he’s in trouble.”
Sawyer shielded his eyes. “I don’t see him either. Turn around.”
Liam made a wide arc and steered the boat to where the man had been.
“Did he swim to shore?” Isabel asked. “What was he wearing?”
“Blue shorts, I think,” Sawyer replied. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
We reached the paddleboard, and Liam cut the boat’s engine.
“We need to go in.” I stood to flip down the ladder.
“Don’t be stupid, Rose.” Liam pointed to the depth gauge. “It’s almost a hundred feet here.”
Zoe’s hands shook as she fumbled for her phone in her tote. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”
“Tell them to hurry,” Isabel urged. “This is bad. Really bad.”
Liam dumped the remains of his beer into the water and tossed the can into the cooler. “Give me all your cans.”
Sawyer finished his beer and added it to the cooler, but the girls followed Liam’s lead and poured their beers over the side of the boat. I handed in my still unopened can. We then scanned the lake and shoreline for what felt like an eternity until a police boat with two male officers arrived.
“Let me do the talking,” Liam said to everyone, but his threatening look was only for me.
When the boats were close enough, he yelled, “We saw a man fall off that paddleboard.” He gestured at the board several feet away. “We don’t think he came up.”
As the police officers conferred, it was all I could do to keep from screaming at them to hurry up and do something. Finally, one officer got on his radio.
“What was the man wearing?” the other officer asked.
Liam looked at Sawyer and answered, “Blue shorts, we think.”
“And a long-sleeved shirt,” I added. “Light-colored.”
“Did you get that?” he asked his partner, who nodded and continued talking into the radio. “OK, do you have a slip nearby, or did you use the boat launch?”
“We have a slip,” Liam replied, pointing toward the piers to the left of our village’s public beach.
“Dock your boat and wait at the municipal pier until an officer takes your statement. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Liam said in his ultra-polite voice reserved for adults.
A few minutes later, we drifted into the Clark’s slip. Liam grabbed the cooler and jumped onto the dock before Sawyer could secure the first rope. A pair of seagulls perched on the canvas cover of a nearby boat took flight, squawking their annoyance at the interruption of their sunbathing.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Do you want to get caught drinking?” He looked at me as if I were stupid. “I’m taking the cooler to my Jeep. I’ll meet you at the municipal pier. If anyone asks, tell them I went to the bathroom.” He took a few steps and then stopped. “Also, when the police ask what happened, keep it simple. Say we were coming into the bay and saw the guy fall as we passed him.”
Isabel and Zoe’s faces crinkled in confusion, and my stomach braced for a tidal wave of anxiety at the half-truth. But Sawyer gave his friend a thumbs-up, and Liam nodded his satisfaction, assuming we all agreed.
No one talked as we finished securing the boat and then walked to the main pier, where we met up with Liam. As we waited for an officer to take our statements, two Water Safety boats joined the police boat, and an ambulance and three police SUVs came howling into the nearby boat launch parking lot.
Several minutes later, an officer approached us. Liam told our story first, and then Sawyer, Isabel, and Zoe repeated what he said word for word. When it was my turn, I found myself alone with the officer as the others had slipped into the crowd of gawkers that had formed.
Before I could give my statement, a black SUV pulled into the parking lot, diverting the officer’s attention. A thick-bodied man with salt and pepper hair, wearing khaki shorts and a navy polo, hurried toward us, his flip-flops flapping against the pavement.
“Hey, Chief,” the officer said. “Sorry to interrupt your day off.”
The older man waved away the apology with his hand. “Update me on the situation.”
“Approximately thirty minutes ago, a man fell off his paddleboard and went under between Conference Point and Cedar Point. He didn’t surface. Divers are in the water, and we called for the drones.”
“He was at the end of the bay?”
“Yes, sir. The water depth is around a hundred feet, so the divers are sweeping the bay, and the remotes will search outward as soon as they arrive.”
Chief David Wick, head of the Williams Bay Police Department, studied the scene, which had changed from a rescue operation to one of recovery as more time passed. “I take it he wasn’t wearing a life jacket?”
“No, sir. It was tied to his paddleboard.”
“Of course, it was.” The chief sighed deeply and massaged his forehead.
They continued to talk as if I weren’t there, which often happened to me. Mom blamed it on my quietness, but I knew it was because I was easy to ignore. With my dull brown hair and childlike height, I blended into the background and became invisible.
“Who reported it?” the chief asked.
“Liam Clark.”
“Hank’s boy?”
The officer nodded.
“Has anyone told William Sr. yet?”
The officer pointed to my stepbrother, who was flanked by his dad and grandpa at the far end of the parking lot.
Dr. William Henry Clark Jr., aka Hank, seemed nervous. Though his feet never lifted from the pavement, his body moved in starts and stops, his hands finding his pants pockets, his face, and the back of his neck. He repeated the cycle as if it were a quirky dance.
In contrast, William Henry Clark Sr. stood stock-still facing the water, his wiry frame leaning on a cane as the tragedy unfolded.
The police chief asked about Liam’s grandpa because, in 1837, Captain William Israel Clark settled next to the lake with his four sons. It didn’t take long for the growing village to be called Williams Bay, with Captain Clark in charge. When he died, his eldest son took over, thus starting the tradition of the captain’s descendants ruling over the residents. William Sr. was “elected” village president twenty years ago when his father became too frail. So even though six elected trustees were on the village board, everyone knew William Sr. had the final say in what happened in Williams Bay.
“Who else was onboard with Liam?” the chief asked.
The officer checked his notepad. “Zoe Smith, Isabel Murray, Sawyer Reed, and Rose McCabe.”
Suddenly noticing me, the chief frowned as if trying to place who I was. He opened his mouth but abruptly shut it and headed toward the emergency personnel by the water’s edge.
A shout came from the crowd, and several people pointed at a diver who had surfaced in the middle of the bay. His black neoprene-clad body swam slowly, one arm wrapped around an object. As the diver got closer, what he held became apparent, and two EMTs ran into the water to help him. The recovery operation was over.
Until this moment, I had harbored an illogical sequence of events where the man on the paddleboard had reached shore after falling in and would appear on the lake path any minute, wondering what all the fuss was. But now, I had to face reality and the part we had played in this stranger’s death. I locked my knees to control my shaking legs and held both hands over my mouth to keep in my screams.
I stared at my stepbrother, but the distance between us made it impossible to see his expression. Was he sad? Distraught? Indifferent?
William Sr. turned to Hank and motioned with his cane. Then, my stepdad took Liam’s arm and led him toward his Jeep. Realizing my ride was about to leave, I ran after them.
{ 2 }
WILLIAM SR.
Sunday, September 3
My son paced the living room his current wife, Nora, had redecorated five times in the past three years. She called this version Shabby Chic, which meant filling the room with pillows, flowers, fake crystal lamps, and brand-new scuffed-up furniture. When she crowed about the great deal she got on a pair of bookcases that looked ready for the junkyard, I thought P.T. Barnum was right. There’s a sucker born every minute.
Irritation spread through my body, growing into anger that threatened to choke me as I watched Hank from my recliner by the fireplace. Side by side, it was clear we were related. We were both six feet tall with the same blue eyes and strong jaw the previous generations of Clark men shared, but that was where the similarities ended. At seventy-five years old and despite a recent hip replacement, I had the physique and at least eighty percent of the strength I had at fifty-five. My son walked around in a “dad bod,” whatever the hell that was. My brown hair had long ago turned gray, and I made weekly trips to the barbershop to keep it high and tight. At forty-seven years old, Hank pampered his brown curls with fancy products his wife bought at a beauty salon. He was a weak man and my biggest disappointment.
Hank paused before the mantel, picked up a family portrait, and studied it with weepy eyes. “I’m worried about Liam.”
“Why?” I demanded. “The boy seems fine.”
He shook his head. “Liam needs to talk about what happened and how he feels. If you suppress a trauma, you’ll end up sick, both mentally and physically.”
I sighed heavily and added an eye roll. “Did you read that medical advice on Facebook or Instagram?”
“I’m serious, Dad,” he whined. “We need to do something for him.”
The doorbell rang, and Hank looked bewildered as if he had never had a visitor.
I stomped my cane against the floor, but the thick carpet muffled my intended effect. “For goodness’ sake, don’t stand there like an imbecile. Answer the door.”
He hurried from the room, obeying my command. A moment later, he returned with the village’s police chief.
“Don’t get up, William,” the chief said as I scooted forward in my chair.
I nodded my thanks and shook the hand he offered me. “This hip replacement is more trouble than it’s worth. The doctor says to give it time, but what the hell does he know? Anyway, have a seat, David. I assume you’re not here to listen to me bellyache. Hank, pour the chief some coffee. He takes cream, no sugar.”
Hank’s eyes widened as if I had asked him to perform open-heart surgery. “I’ll have to make some. There isn’t any left from breakfast.”
My single raised eyebrow at this earth-shattering news spurred him from the room.
The chief wedged himself into what remained of the couch after Nora had added two rows of unnecessary pillows. He leaned toward me, rested his forearms on his thighs, and clasped his hands. “I was wondering if I could talk to Liam again.”
“Oh? Why?” I lifted my voice in surprise, though I had expected his visit. David wasn’t the sharpest police chief, but he was thorough. “You have his statement, and the boy is so upset that I would hate to put him through any more pain. He’s barely left his room since last night.”
The chief’s forehead creased as he studied his knuckles. “You see, William.” He paused to clear his throat. “A witness to yesterday’s drowning has come forward. His story differs from Liam’s, so we need to confirm what actually happened before I can close the case.”
“I don’t understand. Didn’t the other children on the boat give the same account of this tragic accident as Liam?”
“Yes,” the chief agreed. “Almost verbatim.”
“There you have it.” I slapped my thigh. “Your witness must be mistaken. Perhaps they were too far away to see everything clearly? Or the afternoon sun blinded them?”
The chief squirmed on the couch. “The witness was on the lake path, which is a fair distance, but his version of the event seems plausible.”
“In what way, David?” I kept my tone even with a touch of indifference to display we had nothing to hide or worry about.
He coughed into his fist, a stall tactic he often used when meeting with the village trustees. “The witness said a boat with two males and three females was coming at high speed into the bay and directly at the man on the paddleboard. When the driver swerved to avoid the man, he created a wake that caused the man to lose his balance and fall in. His description of the boat and the people on board matches your boat and the kids.”
“I see.” I let silence fill the room until the chief shifted his body again. “Now, we both know that Geneva Lake is rough on any given day due to excessive boat traffic and weather conditions, and yesterday was no exception. Most paddleboarders and kayakers stay by the shoreline for this very reason. The drowning victim was almost in the middle of the bay, correct?”
I waited for the chief to nod before continuing. “Then isn’t it more plausible the man lost his balance because of less than optimal lake conditions rather than my grandson swamping him?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and I took his troubled expression to mean he was unsure how far he could push me.
“Yes, that is a possibility,” he conceded. But then he grew a spine and added, “I’ll leave it for now, but when Liam feels better, I will need to ask him some more questions.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll call you as soon as the boy’s ready.” I pushed out of my chair, signaling it was time for the chief to be on his way. He followed me to the door, and I turned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Your annual budget proposal is due to the Finance and Personnel Committee at the end of the month. Maybe we can hire the extra officer you’ve always wanted.”
The chief looked surprised and then pleased. “That would be great. We could use the help, especially during tourist season.”
“Let’s meet for breakfast tomorrow and discuss it further.” I smiled slyly at him. “Off the record, of course.”
We shook hands, and I guided him out the door before limping back to my recliner.
Hank appeared with a dish towel over one shoulder and a tray with three cups of coffee. Seeing David gone, he asked, “Did the chief leave?”
“Can’t put one over on you.” I planted my cane and eased into the chair, wincing as I lowered myself the last inch.
He set the tray on the coffee table, went to the window, and watched David drive away. “What did the chief want?”
“He asked to talk to Liam again.”
He spun around. “Why?”
“Nevermind. I will handle this business from now on,” I snapped. “You keep your mouth shut. And tell Liam to do the same.”
“Why?” he repeated, reminding me of a three-year-old. “What’s going on? I have a right to know, Dad. He’s my son.”
“Fine. Someone claiming to have seen the accident told the police Liam’s reckless driving caused a wake that swamped the man on the paddleboard.”
“So, they think Liam is lying?” he whispered unnecessarily since the boy would never hear him from his bedroom with those silly stick headphones in his ears.
“Yes,” I grumbled.
The blood drained from his face, leaving him a deathly gray color and reminding me I had a funeral to attend later in the week.
“Do you think he’s lying?” he asked me.
It was the million-dollar question. If pressed, my answer would be “yes,” and I would probably die a rich man. “What do you think?”
His body wilted, and his eyes dropped to his bright, white tennis shoes. His inability to look me in the face was all the confirmation I needed.
I tapped the tablet I had been reading before Hank and David interrupted my day. “The Lake Geneva Regional News has already posted an article. They describe Liam as a witness and nothing more. That is what we need to say to anyone who asks.”
