her!”
Bob’s Eats bustled with residents of Turtle Town. Though as the only place to eat in town, it could have gotten away with poor food, the choices were surprisingly tasty and the coffee hot and fresh. Simon pushed past a group of men who stank of fish and scanned the room. He didn’t really know who he was looking for. Many of the men in the dining room were Ojibwa.
He stopped the waitress, Rhonda. “Hi, Rhonda, do you—”
She interrupted before he could ask her. “I heard about Jerry.” Her eyes were red.
He’d forgotten she’d dated his cousins—first Brian, then Jerry. “Yeah, it’s a shock.” He pressed her arm. “Hey, do you know Old Robert? Is he here?”
She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes that had escaped the band at her neck and pointed to a man sitting alone at a table in the corner. “There.”
“Thanks.” Simon wove through the tables and stopped in front of the table. “Robert?”
Dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans with suspenders, Old Robert’s eyes had dark bags, and he sported a two-day’s growth of beard. He took a sip of his coffee then pushed the other chair out with a booted foot. “Sit.”
Simon pulled the chair out farther then sat down. “Did you talk to Wynne Baxter this morning?”
The old Native American man took his time about answering. “I talk to everyone at the dock. She the pretty gal with dark curly hair?”
“That’s her. You told her to leave the boat where it lies. You indicated she might be in danger if she disturbed it. Do you have any information about where it is, or who sank it?” He’d finally said it—admitted someone had to have sunk the boat. Was that easier to believe than that the design was flawed?
Old Robert shook his head. “I’ve seen the signs. The thunderbird is angry and wants the water graves to be undisturbed. Poking around old wrecks is wrong. Let the dead rest.”
Simon leaned forward. “You are on the water all the time. Have you seen anything that might indicate the boat was sunk on purpose?”
“I see many things. Some things are better left alone.” The old man stood and dropped several bills onto the table.
Old Robert knew something. Simon stood, too. “Please. Tell me what you know. I have to know the truth.”
“No good can come from stirring up a hornet’s nest. Go home. Forget about the yacht. Your cousin and your friend are dead. Nothing can bring them back. Revenge isn’t worth the price.”
“I don’t want revenge, I just want to know what happened. Besides, the sheriff thinks I did it.”
“There will be no proof of anything if the boat is never found. Leave it alone.” Old Robert turned and walked toward the door.
Simon didn’t try to stop him. The old man wasn’t giving up any information. If he even knew anything.Maybe he just liked to act like a wise man and issue portents and ominous warnings.
“Want to order something?” Rhonda stood at the table with her pen and pad in her hand. Simon’s stomach rumbled. “I take that as a yes,” she said with a laugh.
“I guess I am hungry.” Simon smiled and grabbed the menu. “Bring me a beef pasty and some fries. Coffee, too.”
“You got it. Old Robert have any information?”
“Not really.”
“I figured as much. He likes to act important. I wouldn’t take anything he said as gospel.” She tucked the pen into the pocket of her apron and went to the kitchen.
Simon’s head had begun to ache. He was never going to figure this out. Lake Superior was vast. It was a long shot to even look for the yacht. Maybe Old Robert was right and he should leave it to the sheriff. The lawman had no proof Simon had done anything, and he wasn’t likely to find any. A deep voice interrupted Simon’s thoughts.
“Mind if I join you?” The sheriff didn’t wait for an answer to sit in the seat Old Robert had vacated.
“It’s a free country.” He wasn’t in the mood to be grilled anymore today.
“Finding anything?” the
Bob’s Eats bustled with residents of Turtle Town. Though as the only place to eat in town, it could have gotten away with poor food, the choices were surprisingly tasty and the coffee hot and fresh. Simon pushed past a group of men who stank of fish and scanned the room. He didn’t really know who he was looking for. Many of the men in the dining room were Ojibwa.
He stopped the waitress, Rhonda. “Hi, Rhonda, do you—”
She interrupted before he could ask her. “I heard about Jerry.” Her eyes were red.
He’d forgotten she’d dated his cousins—first Brian, then Jerry. “Yeah, it’s a shock.” He pressed her arm. “Hey, do you know Old Robert? Is he here?”
She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes that had escaped the band at her neck and pointed to a man sitting alone at a table in the corner. “There.”
“Thanks.” Simon wove through the tables and stopped in front of the table. “Robert?”
Dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans with suspenders, Old Robert’s eyes had dark bags, and he sported a two-day’s growth of beard. He took a sip of his coffee then pushed the other chair out with a booted foot. “Sit.”
Simon pulled the chair out farther then sat down. “Did you talk to Wynne Baxter this morning?”
The old Native American man took his time about answering. “I talk to everyone at the dock. She the pretty gal with dark curly hair?”
“That’s her. You told her to leave the boat where it lies. You indicated she might be in danger if she disturbed it. Do you have any information about where it is, or who sank it?” He’d finally said it—admitted someone had to have sunk the boat. Was that easier to believe than that the design was flawed?
Old Robert shook his head. “I’ve seen the signs. The thunderbird is angry and wants the water graves to be undisturbed. Poking around old wrecks is wrong. Let the dead rest.”
Simon leaned forward. “You are on the water all the time. Have you seen anything that might indicate the boat was sunk on purpose?”
“I see many things. Some things are better left alone.” The old man stood and dropped several bills onto the table.
Old Robert knew something. Simon stood, too. “Please. Tell me what you know. I have to know the truth.”
“No good can come from stirring up a hornet’s nest. Go home. Forget about the yacht. Your cousin and your friend are dead. Nothing can bring them back. Revenge isn’t worth the price.”
“I don’t want revenge, I just want to know what happened. Besides, the sheriff thinks I did it.”
“There will be no proof of anything if the boat is never found. Leave it alone.” Old Robert turned and walked toward the door.
Simon didn’t try to stop him. The old man wasn’t giving up any information. If he even knew anything.Maybe he just liked to act like a wise man and issue portents and ominous warnings.
“Want to order something?” Rhonda stood at the table with her pen and pad in her hand. Simon’s stomach rumbled. “I take that as a yes,” she said with a laugh.
“I guess I am hungry.” Simon smiled and grabbed the menu. “Bring me a beef pasty and some fries. Coffee, too.”
“You got it. Old Robert have any information?”
“Not really.”
“I figured as much. He likes to act important. I wouldn’t take anything he said as gospel.” She tucked the pen into the pocket of her apron and went to the kitchen.
Simon’s head had begun to ache. He was never going to figure this out. Lake Superior was vast. It was a long shot to even look for the yacht. Maybe Old Robert was right and he should leave it to the sheriff. The lawman had no proof Simon had done anything, and he wasn’t likely to find any. A deep voice interrupted Simon’s thoughts.
“Mind if I join you?” The sheriff didn’t wait for an answer to sit in the seat Old Robert had vacated.
“It’s a free country.” He wasn’t in the mood to be grilled anymore today.
“Finding anything?” the
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