Dark Tiger (7 page)

Calhoun couldn't think of anything to say, so he said nothing.

Dunlap smiled quickly. “Well, anyway,” he said, “it's still like it was a hundred years ago up there. Great fishing. Four-, five-, six-pound squaretails. Loads of big landlocked salmon. All native fish. None of the lakes've ever been stocked. We cherish our fish, and we treat 'em right. Fly-fishing only. Barbless hooks. All catch and release, except our guests are allowed to
kill one trophy fish per week. A lot of folks just return all their fish unharmed, but everybody catches a trophy or two. We have an arrangement with a taxidermist in Pittsburgh. He's a true artist.” Dunlap waved his hand in the air, dismissing the taxidermist from Pittsburgh. “What we've got is like the Maine of the good old days, Stoney, minus the long strings of big dead fish. Gorgeous wilderness full of moose and bear and bald eagles, the best brook trout and landlocked salmon fishing outside of Labrador, and one of the nicest, most comfortable family-owned fishing lodges in the world.” Dunlap tipped up his glass and drained it. Calhoun heard the ice cubes click against his teeth. “We try to make it an attractive place for our guides. Each of them has his own private cabin. You eat the same food as the clients in the guides' own dining room. One day off a week with use of the lodge vehicles. And, of course, we pay our guides better than anybody anywhere.”

“Sounds good,” said Calhoun.

“As you might imagine,” said Dunlap, “we charge premium rates. It's an absolutely unique experience for a fisherman or a fishing couple. Something special for a corporate group. The fish, the food, the ambience, the wilderness, all of it. We have clients who come from all over the world, and they come every year. CEOs and prime ministers, senators and movie stars and professional athletes. For our clients, money is no object.”

“I can see why you need good guides,” said Calhoun.

Dunlap frowned. “Huh?”

“Guides who can keep their mouths shut when they hear a lot of bullshit going on.”

“Clients who don't treat our guides with respect,” said Dunlap, “are not invited back. We have a long waiting list. We don't need unpleasant guests.” He placed both of his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “That's my sales pitch, Stoney. My
wife and my son and I, we want you to come work with us. I was told you might be interested, and I hope that's true. We're prepared to pay you enough to make it awfully difficult for you to refuse, but I'm really hoping that you'd like to do this, that you're enthusiastic about spending some time at our beautiful lodge fishing our wonderful lakes and being treated the way a professional guide should be treated.”

“I don't go anywhere without my dog.”

Dunlap frowned. “Nobody said anything—”

“Ralph goes with me,” said Calhoun. “That ain't negotiable.”

“I assume he's spent time in a boat,” said Dunlap, “knows his way around people.”

“Worry about me before you worry about Ralph.”

Dunlap shrugged. “Well, okay, I don't see a problem, then. So are we on?”

“You never mentioned what you paid.”

“I'm sorry.” Dunlap ran the palm of his hand over the top of his head. “All our guides get the same. Twenty-five hundred a week. It's a salary. No tips, so as to discourage favoritism. Like I said before, one day a week off, which includes use of one of the lodge vehicles if you want to go to town.” He paused. “Our guides work from May one to September thirty. For most folks around here, that adds up to a fine yearly income.”

“No wonder you got the best ones workin' for you.”

“Good pay, good working conditions,” said Marty Dunlap. “The tried-and-true formula. Robert says I overpay the guides. I keep trying to tell him, the place lives or dies on our guides.” He smiled—a bit sadly, Calhoun thought. “That's why I worry about Robert taking over the place. He doesn't quite get the human element. To him, I think it's all about the bottom line.”

Calhoun nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I'll do it.”

Dunlap looked at him for a minute, as if he weren't quite sure what Calhoun had said. Then he reached his hand across the table. “Oh, excellent. This is wonderful, Stoney. I'm delighted.”

Calhoun shook his hand.

“I'll explain all the details over lunch,” said Dunlap. “Be sure to ask for the lobster bisque. I'm hoping you can come aboard next week. Thursday would be perfect.”

Calhoun nodded absentmindedly. He was thinking that Martin Dunlap didn't need to give him the big sales pitch. The Man in the Suit and his buddy Mr. Brescia had given him no choice.

Now, he was thinking, came the hard part. Now he had to break it to Kate.

 

 

 

 

Calhoun got to the shop at seven thirty on Sunday morning. It was Kate's turn to open up, and he knew she'd be there well before eight, which was the time they turned the sign on the door so that the
OPEN
side faced out. He could talk to her then, before they opened for business. Tell her he'd be gone for a month, no more than six weeks.

He expected her to be angry at first, but he hoped that if they spent the day together in the shop, maybe she'd have a chance to think about it, get used to the idea, cool down. He didn't look forward to being away for all that time with Kate mad at him, although he knew it could happen that way.

When he pulled into the lot, he saw that Kate's truck was already there. He parked beside it, and he and Ralph went into the shop.

Kate was at the clothing display, straightening out the shirts and jackets on the hangers. When the bell over the door dinged, she looked up, and when she saw Calhoun, she gave him a big smile. “Hey, Stoney. What're you doing here at this hour? Today's your morning to sleep in.”

“I couldn't sleep, honey. You got your coffee?”

“Not yet. I just put it together a few minutes ago. It should be ready now. You want to fetch us a mug?”

He went to the back of the shop, poured two mugs full from the big stainless-steel urn, and brought them to where Kate was working on the clothing. He handed one of the mugs to her. “Honey,” he said, “there's something I need to talk to you about.”

She arched her eyebrows at him. “Sounds ominous. Now you gonna tell me that we're losing our lease after all?”

“Nope. Nothing like that. Let's sit, okay?”

Kate frowned at him, then went over and sat in one of the chairs at the fly-tying bench.

Calhoun took one of the other chairs. He sipped his coffee, then put the mug down. He looked Kate in the eyes. “Only way I can tell you this is to just tell you,” he said. “Thing is, I'm going to be gone for a month, maybe six weeks. I—”

“What do you mean,
gone
?” she said.

“Not here,” he said. “Not living at home, not coming to the shop.”

“For six weeks?”

He nodded. “It might be that long.”

“You said
got to
.”

He nodded again.

“Meaning it's not your choice.”

“That's right.” He nodded. “I don't have a choice. I've got to do this.”

“You want to tell me where you've
got
to be,” she said, “and what you've
got
to be doing, and who's forcing you to do it, that you won't be home and you won't be fulfilling your responsibilities at your place of business with your partner?”

He shook his head. “I can't tell you any of that, honey. I'm sorry.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Can't.”

“Please don't call me honey.”

Calhoun nodded. “I don't blame you for being upset.”

“I'm just trying to understand,” she said. “You're going to be gone. Not coming to work. Not living in your house. Gone. Not your choice. And you won't—can't—even tell me where you'll be, what's going on, that's more important than your responsibilities, never mind your—your relationship with me.” She glared at him. “Have I got it right?”

He shook his head. “Nothing's more important than you. Only this has got to be done, and I wish you wouldn't be mad.”

“Mad?” She shook her head. “I'm not mad, Stoney. I'm disappointed. I thought we had a certain kind of relationship. Now I find out we don't. Instead, we've got secrets from each other. It's a disappointment. You're a disappointment. I feel like a fool for misunderstanding so profoundly.”

“You didn't misunderstand anything,” he said. “It's just, this thing I've got to do, I don't have any choice about it. I wish I could explain. Then you'd see.”

“So explain. What's stopping you?”

He shook his head. “I can't.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at him. Her mouth was a straight, thin line. Calhoun knew that look, and he didn't like it. It was her cold anger. Nobody did cold anger better than Kate Balaban. “When do you leave, then?” she said.

“My last day at the shop will be Tuesday,” he said. “Day after tomorrow. I'm actually leaving on Thursday.”

She nodded. “Thursday. Well, I hope that'll give you time to line up a replacement, at least.”

“Sure,” he said. “I'll do that. I'll give Adrian a call. What else? Anything else you want me to do?” He reached over to touch her arm.

She flinched and yanked her arm away.

He shrugged and took his hand back. “I wish you'd try to understand.”

“Oh,” she said, “I understand perfectly.” She gave her head a little shake. Then she stood up, went to the front of the store, and turned the sign that hung on the door so that the
OPEN
side faced out.

 

It turned out to be a busy morning at the shop, and both Calhoun and Kate had customers to deal with most of the time. Whenever Kate needed to speak to Calhoun, she was super-polite. She'd say, “Stoney, would you mind taking Mr. Tidings out to the parking lot so he can try casting the new Winston five-weight, please?” or, “Stoney, Mr. and Mrs. Zealey wonder if you might advise them on a selection of bonefish flies for their trip to Belize.”

There was a brief break around noontime when there were no customers in the shop. Kate went into the office, closed the door, and turned on her computer. Calhoun knocked on the glass to see if she wanted him to go out and get some lunch for them.

She ignored him.

The hell with it. If she wanted to go without lunch, so would he. He used the phone at the front counter to call Adrian, the kid who'd worked in the shop on a part-time basis for the past several summers. Adrian had graduated from a college in
Massachusetts with a degree in English a couple of years earlier. He was a quick learner, good with the customers, liked fishing, and didn't have a regular job.

He agreed instantly to coming on full-time for the next six weeks. He'd start on Tuesday, which would be Calhoun's last day at the shop for a while.

 

The rest of Sunday and all day Monday went the same way. Kate avoided Calhoun. She made sure she was in a different part of the shop from him, and when she had to speak to him, she used that cold, excessively polite tone that made it clear she'd prefer it if she didn't have to deal with him at all.

A couple of times Calhoun went up to her and said, “I wish we could talk about this,” and she answered, “I don't think there's anything more to be said,” and when he thought about it, he supposed she was right. There was nothing more he could tell her. All he wanted was for her to say that it was all right, that she accepted it, and that she still loved him.

It was pretty clear she had no intention of saying anything like that.

 

Calhoun was a volunteer sheriff's deputy, and he felt obligated to let Sheriff Dickman know he was going to be unavailable for a while. He expected this conversation to go differently from the one he'd had with Kate.

He called the sheriff after supper on Monday. “Just wanted you to know,” he said, “that I'm going to be away for the next month or six weeks.”

“Hope you've got some good fishing lined up,” said the sheriff.

“In fact, I do,” said Calhoun. “Won't be available if you need me, though.”

“I expect I'll manage to muddle along.”

“Oh, hey, listen,” said Calhoun, as if it were an afterthought, “do you know the medical examiner in Augusta?”

“Very competent woman named Ella Grimshaw,” the sheriff said. “Dr. Grimshaw. Chief medical examiner for the state of Maine. I know her, sure.”

“If I ask you for a favor, will you promise not to ask me what it's about?”

“I don't see why not.”

“Would you give Dr. Grimshaw a call,” said Calhoun, “tell her your deputy, an honorable man name of Calhoun, would like to talk with her on Wednesday, and would she please cooperate with him?”

The sheriff chuckled. “You expect me to agree to do this and not ask you what's going on?”

“I can't tell you, so I'd rather you didn't ask.”

“It's all very mysterious, Stoney. You going away for six weeks in the middle of the trout season, doing business with the ME that I don't know about.” He paused. “So how's Kate taking this?”

“Not good,” said Calhoun. “As expected.”

“Well, I'll give Dr. Grimshaw a call,” said the sheriff. “I don't know whether to tell you to be careful or to have fun.”

“Both work for me,” said Calhoun.

 

He got to the shop early on Tuesday. It was his last day for a while, and he was determined to be as useful as he possibly could be. He figured he'd take inventory and place some orders
and get things organized, along with giving Adrian a refresher on how the shop ran.

Kate arrived in the middle of the morning and, as she'd been doing since Calhoun's announcement, she avoided being in the same part of the shop as he was.