THE SHOREWATER GROUP
a novel by Marc Kelly Smith copyright 2020
THE NEXT CHAPTER
for previous chapters go to http://www.marckellysmith.net/shorewater-group.html
Chapter 4 “Private Eyelids”
“As I said, something has occurred to me,” Billingsworth continued, still dancing his thumbs over his prayer fingers, “Leylander is a very old name in the Northwest, once associated with Leylaner, Foster, and Shannon -- Timber barons and lead peddlers. Their limited partnership once controlled over 3,000,000 between Elizabeth and Lacrosse.”
He paused to sip his cocktail.
“There may be no connection, but if my mind serves me well, an art collector in Chicago listed a line of Leylander curios in their brochure last May.” He put his glass down. “And this is what is truly remarkable. Recently the federal courts mandated the forced dissolution of several Leylander properties, which I apologize for not recalling in detail, but I can say that it amounted to quite a large sum of money.”
“Wissecater. That’s an unusual name,” noted Mary Kae, “Do you know the Leylanders personally, darling?”
“Name basis only. We met several members of the extended family at the Halloween Gala in Galena a few years back. Of course, everyone was in costume.”
“The Crows?”
“No dear, those were the Parkers. I believe one Leylander suited himself up as an artist in an effort to duplicate one of the famous Rembrandt self portraits. Wishful thinking I suppose. Two others were Jack and Jill up the hill. The others I cannot recall.”
Claude Robert fell silent for a moment lost in thought.
“Oh I remember now. Jack and Jill seemed very put off when the artist inserted himself into their conversation. I can’t remember what the topic was.”
“God damn! Are we bonafide sleuths or what?” bellowed Bernard.
“What in the hell are you screaming about?” screamed Hoagie.
“We already got a motive!”
“A motive? A driver’s license and some scribbled pieces of paper?”
“Ru…dol…phi…o,” Claude said, stretching out the syllables to control the pace of the conversation, “Until we come to some conclusion I must reinforce Bernard’s wish that no mention of our activities be passed on beyond the perimeter of the premises.”
“Are you two drinking out of the same bathtub?” said Hoagie, snarling.
“Tom McDonald crashed his new pick up through Joe Murphy’s fence,” Betty announced, still tuned into the police frequency.
“What is this? Stupid Sleuth Syndrome?”
“They’re laughing over the channel,” Betty added.
“My darling,” Mary Kae said, “Are you sure this is the right course of action for us?”
“Our euchre tournament has failed. It has not provided the proper relief from the tedium we set out to avoid and we are too close to one another to pretend that wagering our personal belongings is a serious matter. I take complete responsibility for suggesting it as our summer activity.”
”Tally Talman says McDonald can’t even kill a deer with his truck,” continued Betty, “Why is that funny?”
All of a sudden Lewis stirred, the black clouds around his head stitched with lightening. “Because McDonald is a cross-eyed loony bird who’s been trying to kill a buck since he was eight years old.”
He downed his root beer and set the glass back into the damp circle it came up from. Everyone watched the storm around his head. He hadn’t asked for this. It wasn’t his style. He had no style. Style was a luxury. He couldn’t fool himself about it anymore. Tomorrow he’ll put in one last half day at Terry’s Machine Shop and then book. Where didn’t matter. Burn through the bank roll. Stick his head in a hole.
“I’m done. Done with bowers. Done with tricks. Done with everything.”
“Lewis!”
“We killed another month. Ain’t we clever?”
“Stay put Lew,” Hoagie pleaded, “I ain’t serious about the boat. Boat’s yours fair and square.”
“Let’s take a road trip together,” Mary Kae suggested, desperate to pull Lewis back into the light, “Pack our bags this afternoon. Throw a dart at the map ….”
“Like the Black Hills four years ago?”
“You loved that trip!”
“Pretending! We’re all pretending,”
“Yes. Yes. We could dedicate ourselves to some random excursion, but I have an alternative suggestion.” Billingsworth’s voice was up a decibel trying again to control the discourse, “Let’s explore the possibilities of Bernard’s proposal for a day or two.”
“Private Eyelids,” Betty said, “We’ll call it Private Eyelids.”
“Stick-it–to-Loyde,” countered Bernard.
“Eyelids.”
“Stick-it-to-Loyde.”
“Okay! That’s it!” Lewis snapped, “Look. I love you all. I do. I’m clear about that, about every beautiful thing you’ve done for me. I acknowledge it and love it. But it just don’t add up. Not for me. Not anymore.”
“We love you too, Lewie,” Bernard said, unleashing a big stupid smile.
“I ain’t talking to you.”
Bernard started to respond but Hoagie broke in, “Com’on Lew. Don’t go blowin’ off again.”
“Him I don’t love!” he said, “How do you expect this town to be anything more than the dump it is when you go out in public wearing trash store outfits. Christ!”
Bernard looked down over his belly at his jogging pants. “Out of the garbage heap appears a Venus,”
“Phoenix, dumbshit,” Lewis said, now at the door.
“Ain’t gonna hurt to try what Mad Robert wants for a couple days,” called out Hoagie.
“No.”
The door flew open flooding the lodge with the same blinding light that spilled in when Bernie entered bringing in the news that turned out to be the trigger that collapsed the Group’s summer efforts at beating the boredom. The door clunked shut behind him.
“What do we do now?” asked Hoagie
“Nothing,” said Claude.
“ I’ll check on him later.” Mary Kae said, staring at the door. Claude Robert knew that later would be sooner.
“Loyde’s on the radio telling TT to get his butt down to the office. Says Homeland Security will be at the site in ten minutes and he wants someone in the office while he’s talking to them.”
“Let’s snoop the office while he’s gone,” Bernie said.
“Not a word, Rudolphio,” Claude said, rising from his chair, “Cancel the chicken. We’ll review our options individually and adjourn for the day.”
“As I said, something has occurred to me,” Billingsworth continued, still dancing his thumbs over his prayer fingers, “Leylander is a very old name in the Northwest, once associated with Leylaner, Foster, and Shannon -- Timber barons and lead peddlers. Their limited partnership once controlled over 3,000,000 between Elizabeth and Lacrosse.”
He paused to sip his cocktail.
“There may be no connection, but if my mind serves me well, an art collector in Chicago listed a line of Leylander curios in their brochure last May.” He put his glass down. “And this is what is truly remarkable. Recently the federal courts mandated the forced dissolution of several Leylander properties, which I apologize for not recalling in detail, but I can say that it amounted to quite a large sum of money.”
“Wissecater. That’s an unusual name,” noted Mary Kae, “Do you know the Leylanders personally, darling?”
“Name basis only. We met several members of the extended family at the Halloween Gala in Galena a few years back. Of course, everyone was in costume.”
“The Crows?”
“No dear, those were the Parkers. I believe one Leylander suited himself up as an artist in an effort to duplicate one of the famous Rembrandt self portraits. Wishful thinking I suppose. Two others were Jack and Jill up the hill. The others I cannot recall.”
Claude Robert fell silent for a moment lost in thought.
“Oh I remember now. Jack and Jill seemed very put off when the artist inserted himself into their conversation. I can’t remember what the topic was.”
“God damn! Are we bonafide sleuths or what?” bellowed Bernard.
“What in the hell are you screaming about?” screamed Hoagie.
“We already got a motive!”
“A motive? A driver’s license and some scribbled pieces of paper?”
“Ru…dol…phi…o,” Claude said, stretching out the syllables to control the pace of the conversation, “Until we come to some conclusion I must reinforce Bernard’s wish that no mention of our activities be passed on beyond the perimeter of the premises.”
“Are you two drinking out of the same bathtub?” said Hoagie, snarling.
“Tom McDonald crashed his new pick up through Joe Murphy’s fence,” Betty announced, still tuned into the police frequency.
“What is this? Stupid Sleuth Syndrome?”
“They’re laughing over the channel,” Betty added.
“My darling,” Mary Kae said, “Are you sure this is the right course of action for us?”
“Our euchre tournament has failed. It has not provided the proper relief from the tedium we set out to avoid and we are too close to one another to pretend that wagering our personal belongings is a serious matter. I take complete responsibility for suggesting it as our summer activity.”
”Tally Talman says McDonald can’t even kill a deer with his truck,” continued Betty, “Why is that funny?”
All of a sudden Lewis stirred, the black clouds around his head stitched with lightening. “Because McDonald is a cross-eyed loony bird who’s been trying to kill a buck since he was eight years old.”
He downed his root beer and set the glass back into the damp circle it came up from. Everyone watched the storm around his head. He hadn’t asked for this. It wasn’t his style. He had no style. Style was a luxury. He couldn’t fool himself about it anymore. Tomorrow he’ll put in one last half day at Terry’s Machine Shop and then book. Where didn’t matter. Burn through the bank roll. Stick his head in a hole.
“I’m done. Done with bowers. Done with tricks. Done with everything.”
“Lewis!”
“We killed another month. Ain’t we clever?”
“Stay put Lew,” Hoagie pleaded, “I ain’t serious about the boat. Boat’s yours fair and square.”
“Let’s take a road trip together,” Mary Kae suggested, desperate to pull Lewis back into the light, “Pack our bags this afternoon. Throw a dart at the map ….”
“Like the Black Hills four years ago?”
“You loved that trip!”
“Pretending! We’re all pretending,”
“Yes. Yes. We could dedicate ourselves to some random excursion, but I have an alternative suggestion.” Billingsworth’s voice was up a decibel trying again to control the discourse, “Let’s explore the possibilities of Bernard’s proposal for a day or two.”
“Private Eyelids,” Betty said, “We’ll call it Private Eyelids.”
“Stick-it–to-Loyde,” countered Bernard.
“Eyelids.”
“Stick-it-to-Loyde.”
“Okay! That’s it!” Lewis snapped, “Look. I love you all. I do. I’m clear about that, about every beautiful thing you’ve done for me. I acknowledge it and love it. But it just don’t add up. Not for me. Not anymore.”
“We love you too, Lewie,” Bernard said, unleashing a big stupid smile.
“I ain’t talking to you.”
Bernard started to respond but Hoagie broke in, “Com’on Lew. Don’t go blowin’ off again.”
“Him I don’t love!” he said, “How do you expect this town to be anything more than the dump it is when you go out in public wearing trash store outfits. Christ!”
Bernard looked down over his belly at his jogging pants. “Out of the garbage heap appears a Venus,”
“Phoenix, dumbshit,” Lewis said, now at the door.
“Ain’t gonna hurt to try what Mad Robert wants for a couple days,” called out Hoagie.
“No.”
The door flew open flooding the lodge with the same blinding light that spilled in when Bernie entered bringing in the news that turned out to be the trigger that collapsed the Group’s summer efforts at beating the boredom. The door clunked shut behind him.
“What do we do now?” asked Hoagie
“Nothing,” said Claude.
“ I’ll check on him later.” Mary Kae said, staring at the door. Claude Robert knew that later would be sooner.
“Loyde’s on the radio telling TT to get his butt down to the office. Says Homeland Security will be at the site in ten minutes and he wants someone in the office while he’s talking to them.”
“Let’s snoop the office while he’s gone,” Bernie said.
“Not a word, Rudolphio,” Claude said, rising from his chair, “Cancel the chicken. We’ll review our options individually and adjourn for the day.”