Page 4 of Dark Storm Rising

“What was the cause?” Tomasetti asks.

The couple exchanges a look and I feel something uncomfortable slip between my shoulder blades. Next to me, Tomasetti goes still, noticing, too.

“Fire marshal said a stove burner was left on,” Lovina tells us.

“Nice family had just checked out that morning,” Enos adds. “Usually, Lovina cleans right away, but it was busy here at the farm that day. We raise Polypay sheep here on the farm, you know, and the lambs come in the fall.”

Lovina jumps in. “I figured I’d get in there bright and early the next morning. Cabin went up that night. We didn’t notice until it was fully engulfed. That fire lit up the whole sky, I tell you.”

“By the time the fire department arrived,” Enos says, “it was gone. Burned to the ground.”

“Was there an investigation?” Tomasetti asks.

“Oh, they investigated all right.” Lovina tightens her mouth. “If you can call it that.”

Enos frowns at her. “Now Lovina…”

I look from husband to wife, feel a tinge of curiosity. “You don’t believe the stove was the cause?”

The couple exchanges another look, this one darker and unhappy.

Lovina answers. “I went into the cabin right after that family checked out. Just to make sure everything was in order and the doors were locked until I could get in there to clean the next morning. That burner was not left on.”

“We were busy that morning, liebling,” Enos says gently. Darling.

“I would have noticed,” his wife maintains.

Enos sets his hand on her shoulder. “Little thing like that is easy enough to miss.”

Lovina clucks her mouth in irritation even as she pats his hand. “I know my memory isn’t what it used to be, old man, but I checked that stove and the burner was not on.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Enos soothes. “It’s done and we’ll get along just fine with the four cabins we have left.”

“My goodness, just listen to us.” Lovina hefts a self-deprecating laugh. “You give these kids their key so they can get to their cabin and enjoy some of this nice weather before it turns.”

Looking relieved to be off the topic of the fire—and his wife’s memory—Enos plucks a key from a drawer and slides it over to Tomasetti. “You’re in the Bluebird Cabin. Nice new roof on that one. Make yourselves at home. We’ve got a business phone here at the office. Number is on the card. You give a call if you need anything.”

“And the fridge is stocked with a few staples,” Lovina adds. “I put some Amish cheese in there, too.”

“Plenty of firewood in the rack.” Anos sobers. “Might need it by morning. Big Jim down to the general store told me there’s a storm brewing. Probably won’t amount to much, but you might want to get out and enjoy the beach while you can.”

He’d known for some time that the old Amish couple were going to be a problem. They were headstrong fools who didn’t know a good offer from a con. Evidently, they had no idea who they were dealing with or what was at stake. He’d been patient, after all. Charitable. Kind, even. He’d worn kid gloves and played by the rules—their rules—and still they’d defied him. In some ways, they’d disrespected him. Made him look incompetent to people whose opinions mattered. The time had come for him to remedy the problem once and for all.

As far as he was concerned, most Amish were as dumb as the farm animals they raised. This couple in particular were like sheep that had strayed from the safety of their pens. Time to herd them back where they belonged. Remind them that the wolf was in charge and if they didn’t fall in line, he would show his teeth. Once they caught a glimpse of those canines, they’d buckle. Just like the others.

He hadn’t wanted to take the situation to the next level; things got messy when you crossed a certain line. But what were his alternatives? If the sheep refused to obey, the wolf got involved. It was the way things got done. He’d given them every opportunity, and they’d laughed in his face.

There was only one way to correct the problem. If someone got hurt in the process, then so be it. At this point, collateral damage was the least of his worries.

If the Great Lakes were siblings, Lake Erie would be the sullen child, the one that rarely spoke, didn’t play nicely with others, and grew aloof—and dangerous—as an adult.

The Bluebird Cabin is nestled in a copse of trees thirty yards from the lake. The front faces the road. The rear of the cabin, with its big deck and stone firepit, looks out over the water. I know immediately the deck is where we’ll be spending most of our time.

After unpacking, Tomasetti and I spent an hour walking the beach and exploring the labyrinth of trails around the cabin. We caught sight of two whitetail deer in a meadow to the south, and a fat raccoon waddling along one of the lesser paths. A short time before dusk, we venture inside.

“I’m starving,” I say as I go to the fridge.

“Let me dig into my chef’s bag of tricks and see what I can come up with.”