Caretakers (Tyler Cunningham)

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Book: Read Caretakers (Tyler Cunningham) for Free Online
Authors: Jamie Sheffield
that the smile is an ubiquitous facet of humanity that largely eluded ( and still eludes ) me. I have been practicing for years, and have nearly two dozen smiles in my repertoire ( of varying levels of functionality/believability ) but in this instance I fell back on Smile #3, friendly/sincere/helpful.
    “Kitty and I were talking about it, and I’m reasonably sure that we’ll work something out.” I did not want to talk about ‘borrowing’ Mike’s Porsche, or even allude to it, before he had given me a walking tour of Topsail, and a memory tour of the night that his sister went missing. I’m sure that he already had some idea of why I was here, but I didn’t need to throw gas on the fire of his suspicions just yet, if I could help it.
    “If you get a chance, could you park, and leave, the Element, at the Ampersand Bay end of Lower Saranac Lake?” I asked, knowing that the ranger would find my car in short order, and waste days paddling to all of the official and unofficial campsites on Lower and Middle Saranac Lakes, hoping to catch me squatting for longer than allowed, or without a permit at one of the pay-sites.
    Dot must have seen some level of the desperation in my eyes beneath my attempt to distract her with a chance to harass the ranger, or heard it in my voice ( she knows me better than anyone else on Earth, except possibly for Mickey Schwarz, and could read the tiny signs I give that most people miss altogether ), because she let Cheeko swoop down on baby Deirdre for one more round of kisses, and then peeled out of the gravel parking area and driveway nearly fast enough to shower us in pea-sized indignities and gravel.
    I got an awkward round of introductions, with the highlight being a leg-hug from the short, but enthusiastic Deirdre; I perhaps got some kid-cred for being a member of Team Dorothy and Cheeko. Mike walked us all inside, was surprised to note two extra settings for lunch, and arranged drinks for everyone ( and a snack for Deirdre ) and then led a discussion about the service, and paddle trip-planning for the afternoon and/or tomorrow as everyone settled into the overstuffed furniture around the room engaged in pre-lunch conversation, talking as if I wasn’t there.
    “Back from church, time to begin drinking,” said a woman who had walked up from the direction of the boathouse to join us. I nodded, taking in her different-ness … outside tan and wrinkles and fancy earth/sky tone clothes and lots of turquoise and silver ( Santa Fe, I guessed internally, to be checked against the facts, should they come to light ).
    She made a quick scan of the room and then headed right for me, looping her arm in mine and ushering me over to the large bay window and its views of the lake. “Elyse Portner, I’m a friend of Peggy’s, Mike’s second wife, the current one,” she said. “I’m up visiting for a week or so. Peg’s helping me put together a show in ‘The City’ ( emphasis hers ) this fall, and we’re hashing out some details before I talk with her people at the gallery.” She talked with an assurance of ( or lack of caring about ) my knowledge of her and her relations with the Crockers, which I found interesting … I nodded, and waited to see what else she would say; it worked.
    “I was hiding down by the water in the upstairs of that magnificent boathouse while they were all off being churched up. I saw your girlfriend and the dog, but just kept painting those two lovely islands off to the left of the tiny one ( Tommy’s Rock and Dry Island, I thought, but didn’t say. I also didn’t say anything about Dot not being my girlfriend, a type of relationship I couldn’t/can’t imagine for myself, with Dot or anyone else … not from a desire to keep secrets/truth from this woman, but from a lifelong habit of not volunteering information that might be used to further unwanted social interactions ). What is that tiny one, Loon Island I believe Mike called it ( Goose Island, actually,

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