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The lake was on his left, and the winding road was bordered on each side by colorful bands of black-eyed Susans and white daisies. In the distance, pine forests blanketed the entire area, painting the landscape a vibrant green.
It was a beautiful, picturesque kind of place and one he hadn’t fully appreciated growing up. Such is the ignorance of youth.
The town had come into existence because of the flourishing lumber industry back in the 1800s. Crystal Lake was but one of many lakes and waterways that connected to the powerful Muskegon River. The Edwards family had garnered most of their wealth when the twins’ ancestor Thomas Edwards, a lumberjack from the wilds of Canada, had arrived in the area with ten dollars in his pocket and a burning ambition to make a life for himself.
His hard work and keen mind had enabled him to push forward, and the Edwards Lumber Company had been born off the sweat of his brow and the blind determination in his heart. During its heyday, the lumber company had made him and a select group of individuals who’d laid down roots in Crystal Lake millions.
Those roots had taken hold with a tenacity that survived the downturn in the lumber business, and now, more than a hundred years later, the town was still home to the descendants of many of the first-wave inhabitants.
It wasn’t a large town by any means, boasting a population of only four thousand souls when Cain had lived there ten years earlier. As he drove into town he noted they’d gained another thousand over the last decade—at least according to the sign on the side of the road near the old mill: Crystal Lake, Home of the Lumberjacks. Population 5,120.
He grinned as he passed the sign. Hoo-yah. Football was still king. He was glad to see that not much had changed and that those things that had changed were for the better.
He took his foot off the gas and eyed the old mill as the SUV rolled by. It was now a fancy gift shop with an adjacent pub-style restaurant. A patio filled with patrons jutted out into the water. Crystal Lake sported a tributary waterway that ran through town and dumped into the large body of water the town was named after.
Cain’s gaze drifted overhead to the iron railway, and a vivid image of himself and the boys jumping off of it, just shy of the dam, brought another wistful smile to his face. It had been dangerous—stupid—but Christ, the high was one he’d never forget.
Large, stately homes from another era with huge oak trees guarding them welcomed him back, and he marveled at the feeling of déjà vu as he turned down Front Street. It was short and ended at the water. Two young boys pounding the pavement furiously, with their skateboards and fishing poles tucked to their backs, rushed down the sidewalk to his left, swerving at the last minute as a couple of girls screeched in their direction.
They didn’t break stride. They were on a mission—Michigan boys in search of water and fish.
He pulled into Lawrence’s Tackle & Bait and cut the engine. The place was the last one on the street, a smallish brick building that had stood for nearly one hundred and fifty years. At one time it had been the post office, but when the downtown business district had sprung up across the bridge in the thirties, it had been taken over by the Lawrence family. It was the place to get bait and tackle, and over the years the family had added a variety of items to their inventory—everything from screwdrivers to shotguns.
Cain slid from his truck and grinned like a kid. Damn, but it felt good to be back.
He strode inside and took a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark interior. The smell of sandalwood oil, wood, bait, and fish greeted his nostrils. It was a sharp blend that hadn’t changed a bit.
“Well, shit, Cain. You back already? Don’t tell me you used up that bait you got on Sunday.” Daniel Lawrence—a.k.a. Old Man Lawrence—moved from behind the counter. He’d been old for as long as Cain could remember, and though his gait was a bit slower than a decade earlier, he was still spry for a man in his mideighties.
Cain shook Mr. Lawrence’s hand and nodded. “Yeah, and we didn’t catch squat.” Cain moved to the display of lures. “I think I need to invest in some new tackle.”
Mr. Lawrence guffawed. “You lose your touch, Hollywood?”
Cain grinned. He hadn’t been called that in years. “Naw, I think the fish have gotten smarter, is all.”
The old man’s faded eyes softened, his once-tall body slightly bent as he shuffled closer. “It’s good to have you back, son. You been gone too long. This town takes care of its own, and eventually most who leave find their way back.”
Cain glanced toward the colorful fishing lures, more than a little unnerved at the intensity behind those faded eyes.
“You take your time there. I’ll grab you some bait.”
Cain watched him shuffle down the narrow aisle and then proceeded to pick out several lures, including some new ones for Michael. He grinned as he thought of the boy. They’d had shit luck Sunday afternoon and had caught a few sunfish, which they’d thrown back in the water. Cain wasn’t so sure if it was because the fish weren’t biting or if he was just too distracted by thoughts of the boy’s mother to concentrate on fishing.
He’d promised to take Michael out again tomorrow and wanted to make sure they were outfitted properly. The gear Cain had left behind at the boathouse—his tackle from years ago—was sad, and it was time for new.
“Here you go.” Old Man Lawrence tossed a large container onto the counter and nodded at the lures in Cain’s hands. “Good choice.” His brow creased. “Why so many?”
Cain placed the tackle on the counter. “I’m taking a friend’s son out for the day tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh.” The elderly gentleman pushed round glasses up his nose and quickly packed the lures into a paper bag. “The O’Rourke woman’s boy.”
Cain wasn’t surprised. Gossip and innuendo traveled faster than a speeding bullet in this town. That was something that was never going to change. “Yes, Maggie’s son, Michael.”
“She keeps to herself but makes it out to church service once in a blue moon. I guess she can’t be all that bad.” Mr. Lawrence peeked over his specs, his watery blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A woman alone is a dangerous thing, especially one as pretty as that O’Rourke lady.” The old man nodded, his expression serious. “Plus, she’s got that dark red hair, and that can’t be good.”
Cain tried his best to keep the smile from his face. “How so?” He handed over some cash and waited while Mr. Lawrence’s gnarled fingers navigated a cash register that was older than Cain.
“Well, son…” Cain held out his hand to accept the change that was placed into his waiting fingers. “She’s either hiding something, or that red hair has made her unmanageable.”
