Nothing.” Then, he told me how the family came home from a
weekend with the grandparents and found their new station wagon
missing. Glass all over the ground. Thought it was stolen until he
noticed the glass on the boat ramp and the oil in the water. It took
a Navy diver and three tow trucks to pull it out of the river.
Totaled. Squashed nearly flat by the force of the water. Insurance
had replaced it with the new Subaru in the driveway. He picked up a
rock the size of a baseball and heaved it out into the river.
“Right there,” he said. “There’s a hole in the bedrock
nearly twenty feet deep. Right off the end of the ramp. You can feel
it in your feet when you’re in the boat. Millions of years with two
rivers beating on it. It’s like a black hole. Anything you throw in
there, it don’t come out.” He shook his head and continued the
story.
When none of that worked, the road was suddenly under
construction. Closed. Tore it down to bare rock and then just left it
that way. Six months they had to come in the way we came in today.
J.D.’s attorney complained to the state Highway Commission. Finally
the state started nosing around and the powers that be had to get on
with the project. Then, thebridge. Soon as the road was paved, they
closed the bridge. Said it was unsafe.
“Is it?”
“Not one darn thing wrong with it. Heck, for a month or so after
they closed it, I just pulled the barrier aside and drove right on
over.”
“Until they got serious about the gate.”
He nodded. “You noticed.”
I said I had. He picked up on what I was thinking.
“I know it sounds paranoid. Every time I say it out loud I
wonder about myself, but I swear, Leo, it’s the truth. They’re
trying to run me out of business.” He skipped another rock across
the surface. Three.
“Why would they want to do that?”
“’Cause Ben sold me the property.”
“So?”
Seems the county had been making a major effort to buy the
property, but this Bendixon character had steadfastly rebuked all
offers for the place. Said he was born there and, by cracky, he was
gonna die there. When he suddenly reversed field and sold out to J.D,
things turned ugly, ’cause first thing J.D. did was to post the
place NO TRESPASSING, which meant that every other boater and
fisherman had to pull out way upriver at the town boat ramp. Either
that or learn Japanese. What had heretofore been one of the most
heavily used boat launches and fishing holes in this neck of the
woods was suddenly off limits. Needless to say, feelings ran high.
“How come he sold it to you?”
He told me about how he and the old man had met one day. Both of
them out bank-fishing. Ben had invited him to the cabin for coffee.
How they became friends. About how he used to stop and make an offer
on the property whenever he was around this part of the peninsula.
Trying to win out on pure persistence. How it got to be a joke
between them and how one day, out of the blue, the old man left him a
message on his voice mail. You want the property, get yourself over
here.
“I’d given up. I was looking at eighty acres on the Dungeness.
I think he was lonely. By the end, if you wanted to find him during
the day you just went to the Timbertopper Tavern. He didn’t drink
much but…and then the dog…” he began. “I think that was the
last straw.”
“What dog?”
“Ben lived out here for the last fifteen years with this old
springer spaniel named Chappy. His wife died back in the
mid-eighties. Ever since then, it was just Ben and that old dog.”
He could tell I was lost. “Chappy died the day before Ben called
me. I don’t think Ben wanted to live out here all by himself. I
think Chappy dying kind of put him over the edge, if you know what I
mean.”
I said I did. “Where’s the old man now?”
“Moved in with his daughter in Port Townsend.” He searched the
ground, kicked up a flat stone and then sent it sailing. One skip.
“I guess he knew I’d take care of
weekend with the grandparents and found their new station wagon
missing. Glass all over the ground. Thought it was stolen until he
noticed the glass on the boat ramp and the oil in the water. It took
a Navy diver and three tow trucks to pull it out of the river.
Totaled. Squashed nearly flat by the force of the water. Insurance
had replaced it with the new Subaru in the driveway. He picked up a
rock the size of a baseball and heaved it out into the river.
“Right there,” he said. “There’s a hole in the bedrock
nearly twenty feet deep. Right off the end of the ramp. You can feel
it in your feet when you’re in the boat. Millions of years with two
rivers beating on it. It’s like a black hole. Anything you throw in
there, it don’t come out.” He shook his head and continued the
story.
When none of that worked, the road was suddenly under
construction. Closed. Tore it down to bare rock and then just left it
that way. Six months they had to come in the way we came in today.
J.D.’s attorney complained to the state Highway Commission. Finally
the state started nosing around and the powers that be had to get on
with the project. Then, thebridge. Soon as the road was paved, they
closed the bridge. Said it was unsafe.
“Is it?”
“Not one darn thing wrong with it. Heck, for a month or so after
they closed it, I just pulled the barrier aside and drove right on
over.”
“Until they got serious about the gate.”
He nodded. “You noticed.”
I said I had. He picked up on what I was thinking.
“I know it sounds paranoid. Every time I say it out loud I
wonder about myself, but I swear, Leo, it’s the truth. They’re
trying to run me out of business.” He skipped another rock across
the surface. Three.
“Why would they want to do that?”
“’Cause Ben sold me the property.”
“So?”
Seems the county had been making a major effort to buy the
property, but this Bendixon character had steadfastly rebuked all
offers for the place. Said he was born there and, by cracky, he was
gonna die there. When he suddenly reversed field and sold out to J.D,
things turned ugly, ’cause first thing J.D. did was to post the
place NO TRESPASSING, which meant that every other boater and
fisherman had to pull out way upriver at the town boat ramp. Either
that or learn Japanese. What had heretofore been one of the most
heavily used boat launches and fishing holes in this neck of the
woods was suddenly off limits. Needless to say, feelings ran high.
“How come he sold it to you?”
He told me about how he and the old man had met one day. Both of
them out bank-fishing. Ben had invited him to the cabin for coffee.
How they became friends. About how he used to stop and make an offer
on the property whenever he was around this part of the peninsula.
Trying to win out on pure persistence. How it got to be a joke
between them and how one day, out of the blue, the old man left him a
message on his voice mail. You want the property, get yourself over
here.
“I’d given up. I was looking at eighty acres on the Dungeness.
I think he was lonely. By the end, if you wanted to find him during
the day you just went to the Timbertopper Tavern. He didn’t drink
much but…and then the dog…” he began. “I think that was the
last straw.”
“What dog?”
“Ben lived out here for the last fifteen years with this old
springer spaniel named Chappy. His wife died back in the
mid-eighties. Ever since then, it was just Ben and that old dog.”
He could tell I was lost. “Chappy died the day before Ben called
me. I don’t think Ben wanted to live out here all by himself. I
think Chappy dying kind of put him over the edge, if you know what I
mean.”
I said I did. “Where’s the old man now?”
“Moved in with his daughter in Port Townsend.” He searched the
ground, kicked up a flat stone and then sent it sailing. One skip.
“I guess he knew I’d take care of
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