Читать книгу Doom Lake Holiday - Tom Henighan - Страница 11

A short while later they were underway, bumping along the rough cottage road behind the pickup truck. On the left, the lake stretched away in a wide arc; miles and miles of wrinkled grey water. A few small, treed islands lay close to the shore.

“I hope our island’s not too far out,” Mrs. Mallory said. “It could take all day to do the shopping.”

Chip adjusted his earphones and said, “I wonder where Dr. Gwynn lives?”

“On an island a few miles away from the one he’s lending us. Or so Cal explained to me.” His father shook his head slowly. “I’m still amazed at this invitation.”

“I just hope poor May is all right in that cabin,” his wife said, changing the subject.

“We’ll check her out very soon,” he reassured her. “And you heard what Cal said before we left. He doesn’t think Dalton and Garth will set their Dobes on her if she stays put. It looks like her own family might be the real danger.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Mrs. Mallory said.

The wind had ceased, and the sky’s lowering darkness was broken in some places by patches of soft light. It was raining, but gently now, the grass a wet, green mantle, the leaves glossy and bright. There were clumps of pines half concealing cottages, and rocky patches of beach, a few sandy coves, and here and there a cabin set on a lonely promontory. But the storm seemed to have driven most of the vacationers inside; only once or twice did they see any signs of life.

“I don’t suppose there are any kids around here,” Lee mused.

Chip laughed. “Kids? You mean young guys with out-boards and water skis? Don’t worry, Sis, I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”

“I just hope our cellphones work.”

“Don’t count on it, sweetie,” said her mother.

They drove for some minutes more, then, on the left, above the trees, some white rooftops appeared, one topped by a weather-vane rooster, another bearing a satellite dish. The black pickup slowed down. A road forked to the right — it bore a sign indicating “BASCOMBE.”

“We’re not going that way, I hope,” said Mrs. Mallory.

“No! There’s the dock,” Chip said excitedly.

He was pointing to a large lot on their left where their guides were at that moment pulling up their vehicle. There was a long, rickety-looking dock, with the big lake stretching away behind, and a couple of parked cars in the foreground. A huddle of buildings rose on one side, a tackle shop and outbuildings occupying one of them, while on the other side a few ramshackle sheds leaned together, their boards stained dark by the misty rain.

“Look at the boat,” Chip said. “Not exactly zippy.”

“But big enough to carry most of our things,” his father noted.

Tied up to the dock they saw a white pontoon cruiser, maybe twenty-five or thirty feet long. The boat had good deck space and a canvas roof that covered the steering wheel and part of the banked seats, while a large outboard motor powered the craft. Two other, much sleeker powerboats were tied up beside the launch, but they were obviously far too small for the purpose of family transport, and looked a little forlorn in the rain.

Mr. Mallory pulled their SUV up beside the black truck, which had stopped just short of the landing place. Cal Froats had climbed out and was walking toward the tackle shop opposite, looking comical rather than frightening now, Chip thought, in his red Mac and boots.

“Should we start unloading?” Mr. Mallory called to him.

“Just take what’s necessary. I’ll come and fetch the rest later. You can park the car over there beside the Toyota. That’s Lawson’s car. Lawson will keep an eye on yours.”

“Who’s Lawson?”

“Another doctor, like. Place seems to be crawling with ’em. He works with Dr. Gwynn sometimes. Lives here, reads books, writes and writes, and sails all summer.”

Rachel Stone, who had discarded her raincoat and cap and stood before them in a white cotton shirt and white slacks, told them, “I’ll be going now. Have to pick up some supplies in Westport for Dr. Gwynn, but the old man will just have to wait for his grub. I’ll take some food to that girl in the cabin first. Wouldn’t leave her there very long, if I was you. Dalton and Garth may not find her, if she don’t wander up their way, but there’s bound to be trouble with them squatter folk.”

“I’ll see the authorities as soon as possible,” Mrs. Mallory promised. “I’ll have to go shopping myself pretty soon.”

“Wouldn’t worry about that just now. Wait until you see what you’ve got out there in the cabin.”

Rachel climbed into the big pickup and drove away.

They began unloading their SUV, leaving the bedding and blankets on the back seats, and the water scooter and glass-bottomed boat stowed on top.

There was a convenient ladder and — with the help of Cal Froats, who was agile as a monkey — it was not too difficult to load their stuff on the cruiser.

When they had finished, Cal asked for the car keys. “These go to Lawson,” he told them. “Here he comes now to meet you.”

A slender, dark-skinned man, dressed in khaki cargo pants, a light brown T-shirt, and wearing sunglasses — despite the rain — and a white outback hat, strolled over from one of the sheds.

“Lawson Sinclair,” he introduced himself after taking the keys from Cal. “I hope you enjoy the lake.”

“We haven’t enjoyed the lake so far, but we’re hoping to,” Chip told him.

“You sail, do you?” Mrs. Mallory observed.

“I do, for fun. I also sometimes work with Dr. Gwynn. I’m an anthropologist by profession — from Toronto.”

“What’s your specialty, then?”

He hesitated, smiled, then confessed, “It’s a little difficult to explain, but to put it concisely, I study magic.” He spoke in a soft, reassuring voice, and regarded them with kindliness and with a certain humour from behind his light-tinted glasses.

“Wow! Magic!” Lee gaped at him, impressed.

“‘Wow’ maybe. But don’t expect any tricks from me. I won’t make your SUV disappear, for example.”

“I’m relieved,” Mr. Mallory laughed. “But if you’re ready, Cal, I guess we should be heading off to our island. Thanks for taking care of the car, Dr. Sinclair.”

“Call me Lawson. Perhaps we’ll talk again soon — after you’ve met Dr. Gwynn.”

“Is that likely to be soon?”

The other man laughed. “That’s likely to be when he feels like it — and when you least expect it.”

“All aboard,” Cal called out, and he started the engine. The family clambered on board and sat on the two facing rows of benches beneath the small canopy. There was some initial roaring and sputtering from the old motor, but within a few minutes the cruiser was chugging away from the dock.

“Well, the sun’s coming out — that’s a blessing,” Mrs. Mallory observed.

“The lake looks inviting,” Mr. Mallory said. “We must have been at the dud end. Quite a few islands out there. Now if Lawson can keep an eye on our car, and this mysterious island is at least comfortable —”

“And the house on it clean,” his wife cut in. “That too. Lawson seemed a bit of a funny bird, don’t you think?”

“I thought he seemed very nice. Sedate and responsible — and he can’t be more than twenty-five or thirty.”

“Wiser than his years, I suppose. I wonder what kind of magic he studies.”

“Black magic, of course,” piped up Lee.

Her father turned on her. “Lee! That’s not funny! Just keep it up and you’ll be banished to a separate island.”

His daughter gazed at him in horror. “Dad! I didn’t mean it that way. Honest, I really didn’t. He just seemed very cool and mysterious, that’s all.”

Anne Mallory reached over and patted her husband’s hand. “I’m sure our Lee wasn’t trying to be obnoxious, John. Let’s just all relax and enjoy the scenery.”

Chip did just that. He leaned back against one of their duffel bags and gazed around with increasing pleasure. The lake was almost tranquil now, clear and glittering in the fresh light. They chugged along steadily, making progress toward a cluster of rocky islands, low-lying and barely treed, and, after a while, motored past them. Two larger, well-forested islands loomed ahead, but the lake stretched clear beyond them to the opposite shore. Chip wondered exactly where they were heading.

All the time, the sky was opening up. Big clouds sailed off to the east, and deep blue patches appeared in their wake. It grew warmer.

The cruiser now bore to the right, or starboard, of the big islands. And in the distance they could see other, smaller islands much closer to the shore they had departed from — so many indeed that they created the illusion of one big, complex land mass folded up into several green, rocky layers.

“A beautiful lake,” Mr. Mallory observed, nodding at Cal. “Huge, too.”

“It’s big enough,” Cal grunted. “But some don’t call it beautiful. They call it ‘Doom Lake.’”

Lee giggled. Mr. Mallory said nothing, but turned and winked at his wife.

Chip stretched and lay back. He hadn’t slept much last night, and now he found himself quite dozy, closing his eyes and drifting off a little, lulled by the steady buzz of the big outboard.

Only minutes later — or so it seemed — loud voices sounded around him. He opened his eyes quickly and saw that everything had changed: they were no longer far out in the open lake, but navigating slowly through a series of narrow channels that ran between the low islands. Rocky shores, beaches, coves, and woods — all seemed almost close enough to touch.

“Have a nice nap?” Lee inquired. “You didn’t miss much — just half the trip.”

“It’s good to see you relaxing, dear,” his mother said.

Chip yawned, stretched, and leaned over the side of the boat. “I like this place,” he said. “It’s closed in, and kind of… private.”

“Although you don’t get a view of the big lake,” Mr. Mallory said.