Her Best Bet Page 6

  “Nothing,” Gib muttered, standing.

  “Nothing.” Pete went back to his mark on the porch and Izzy filed away side business to think about later.

  IZZY SLUNG THE CAMERA BAG over her shoulder and fell into step beside Shelly as they headed back to their cottage. The sun was high and warm, and dappled the leaves and trail with golden patterns of light.

  “That went well,” Shelly said. “I think we got some excellent footage.”

  Izzy nodded absently, her thoughts caught up in the quick conversation Gib and his grandfather had after the cop left. Something was off. “When you were chasing down the cookies in the lodge, Gib asked his grampa if the cop was here about his side business,” she said.

  “What side business?”

  “I don’t know. And remember last night? When we were talking to Pete about filming, that guy showed up and wanted to talk about business?”

  “Maybe he sells Tupperware or something. Lots of people moonlight.” Shelly grabbed a stick off the ground and began to swing it through the brush as they walked.

  “Just a feeling I’m getting…I think this family’s in a lot of turmoil about the land being sold.”

  “Well, who wouldn’t be?”

  Izzy gazed into the branches arching above the trail, green leaves forming a natural canopy. “I can see why they love it here so much. I only wish it wasn’t my family selling it out from under them.”

  “You can’t feel responsible for something out of your control. It’s your parents’ doing—not yours.”

  Izzy sighed.

  “You want me to make you feel better, less guilty? I can do that.” Shelly tapped a finger against her lower lip, thinking. “What if…hmm…what if Pete’s side business isn’t what we think it is?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m thinking, give me a minute…. What if, aah…Got it! What if his side business is something illegal?”

  Izzy snorted.

  “I can tell you’re feeling better already. Okay, so here’s the story. It’s totally clear to me now. Pete’s involved in…organized crime. In fact, he’s been in organized crime all his life. Is your guilt easing now?”

  “It would help if the story had a degree of believability.”

  “It does,” Shelly said defensively. “Think about it a minute. Gib wants to restrict where we film here. Why? I’ll tell you why. It’s not because the resort is run-down. Admit it, this movie would give the place mystique even if it was a complete dump.” She swished her stick through the underbrush. “If Gib’s goal is really to rejuvenate the business, he should be ecstatic to have us filming here. But is he? No! He’s clearly hiding something—”

  “That his grandfather is in the Mafia? A man with a nice Irish name like Murphy?”

  “Exactly. What if ninety years after the Roaring Twenties, gangsters are alive and well in the Northwoods of Wisconsin?” She smacked her stick hard against a tree trunk. “That’s what the side business is all about.” She gave a self-satisfied nod. “Now is your guilt about selling the land gone?”

  “Oh, yes, completely. I feel so much better knowing that the Murphys are in the Mafia.” Izzy began to laugh. “You really outdid yourself this time. I think this was your best ever…concoction.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  “Oh, God, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK of those women making the movie?” Gib asked his brother. He leaned against the side of the pinball machine in the game room and watched Matt play, music blasting, lights flashing, bumpers thumping, the steel ball flying over the playing field, and points racking up faster than he could count.

  “Hey, get off,” Matt said, eyes focused intently on the game. “You’re going to make it tilt.”

  Gib straightened and repeated the question.

  “They’re okay. Shelly is the better-looking one.” Matt punched the right flipper and gave the machine a couple of shakes to make the ball bounce around more.

  Was his brother blind? By far, Izzy was the more attractive. “If you’re into ditzy blondes. No, I mean, what do you think about them making the movie?”

  “Might help business.”

  “If the resort was in better shape, yeah. But it wouldn’t be hard to make this place look bad—”

  “Mostly because it does look bad.”

  “I’d say that nails the issue,” Gib said.

  Bells jangled as the machine spun through hundreds of extra points.

  “What’s the big deal?” Matt said. “Be nice to the girls and they’ll be nice to you.”

  “I am nice to the girls.”

  “Okay, then, what’s to worry about?” Matt gently nudged the machine to make the ball bounce around more and up his score. “You should tell Bill Campbell about the movie and how it could help us. Maybe we wouldn’t have to do all that other stuff like the brochure and Web site.”

  “I doubt it. Which reminds me, I’ve got to find a graphic designer, fast—one who won’t charge an arm and a leg.”

  “At least you won’t have to find a photographer.”

  A chill seeped through Gib. He hadn’t picked up a camera since the explosion.

  “I mean, you can shoot everything we need, can’t you?” Matt jiggled the machine and a buzzer sounded, signaling tilt. He slapped the glass top as he waited for the ball to roll to the bottom.

  “We’ve got millions of pictures around here from all the years we’ve been in business,” Gib said evenly. “There’s got to be lots to choose from already.”

  Matt let out a hoot. “Yeah, maybe we should use some of the ones I shot with Grampa’s old Instamatic.”

  “Maybe.”

  Hand frozen on the ball launcher, Matt glanced at him. “What? You don’t want take the pictures?”

  “No, no, I’ll do it. No big deal.”

  His brother launched the last ball into the machine. He played without speaking, the only sound that of the bells ringing and buzzers whirring. “I guess I could take the pictures. I actually did learn some of the things you tried to teach me.”

  “You trying to cut in on my territory?”

  “No. Just thought I could contribute something to the cause.”

  “How about hard labor? We need to get one of the cottages renovated. Cleaned, repainted. Get rid of those beat-to-shit furnishings. Make the place cute so the bank knows we mean business.”

  “Yeaaah. Cute. That’s my specialty.” Fingers on the flipper buttons, Matt stayed focused on his game.

  The ball spun through the maze, hitting the bottom as the scorer whirred and pinged, adding hundreds of last-second points. Matt grinned at his final score. “Forget cute. I think I’d rather take the pictures.”

  Gib chuckled to hide the relief he felt at his brother’s offer. His camera lay packed away in its case, on a chair in his childhood bedroom. For the first time since he learned how to use a camera, he didn’t have an interest in photography.

  And he didn’t care.

  SHELLY PEERED OUT THE COTTAGE kitchen window into the night. “There it is again. A light in the woods,” she said in a low voice. “In the dark.”

  “That’s usually where you see lights. In the dark,” Izzy said from the living room, not lifting her head from her book.

  “Yeah, but what’s it doing out there, late like this?”

  “Maybe it’s fireflies.”

  “Giant ones? It’s a flashlight beam. Maybe it has something to do with that cop coming out to see Pete today. Maybe it has something to do with the side business.”

  Izzy groaned. “In the woods?”

  “What if that story I made up was true? Maybe my mind tapped into the energy of this place and I thought I was making it up but it’s actually what’s really going on.”

  “Oh. My. God. You’ve cracked.”

  “Izzy, try to look beyond your doubts and believe—”

  “That the Murphys are into org
anized crime? Holding secret meetings in the woods?”

  “Where else would you hold a secret meeting?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. In a car? A restaurant?”

  Shelly leaned forward until her nose almost touched the window. “Too risky. If you’re in the Mafia and want to have a meeting where you can be sure you won’t be overheard or the room hasn’t been bugged, what would you do?”

  “I see your point.” Izzy held herself back from laughing. “Clearly, the smart place to go is into a mosquito-infested woods late at night. Hold a meeting by the light of a single flashlight, all the while swatting bugs so you aren’t covered in welts the next day.”

  Shelly sank onto the couch and picked up her Cosmo magazine. “Okay, so it doesn’t sound practical. That’s why it’s so brilliant. Who would ever suspect it?”

  “It’s brilliant, all right.”

  “Go ahead, make fun of me. I still think I may be on to something.” She flipped through the magazine. “Check this out. ‘Sexy Moves Your Man Loves That He’s Never Told You About.’ What I want to know is where are all the articles telling the males of the world the sexy moves women love that we never told them about? How come it’s such a one-way pleasure street? If we ever make any money, maybe we should start a men’s magazine like that.” She let out a snicker. “Forget the magazine, maybe that’s what we should make our documentary about.”

  “Oh, yeah, that would be interesting. You still want to be the talent?”

  “We may have to hire professionals.”

  “Chicken.”

  Shelly tossed the magazine onto the couch and flicked off the end-table lamp, sending the cottage into darkness. She sidled over to the window to peer outside again.

  “Hey! I’m trying to read.” Izzy grinned. “Any spies?”

  “There it is, still out there in the same place. If it’s someone out for exercise, why aren’t they going anywhere?”

  With an exasperated sigh, Izzy joined Shelly at the window. “Probably just kids having a beer party or something.”

  “Out here? No way. Mark my words, something’s going on at this resort. A light in the woods that stays in the same place long enough for a clandestine meeting to take place? Fishy, I say.”

  “Maybe it’s aliens.”

  Shelly gave her a dirty look.

  “Okay, okay. You genuinely think the Mafia’s back at White Bear Lodge?”

  “Maybe they never left,” Shelly whispered.

  Izzy stared at her, barely able to make out her features in the dull light. “Now I know you’re off your rocker. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Think about the side-business meeting and how weird Pete acted afterward. Now lights in the woods?”

  “If it’s gangsters, I vote for leaving them alone. I don’t cherish the thought of getting in a tangle with people who utilize torture and hit men on a regular basis,” Izzy said.

  “Think of what an interesting angle this could be for our documentary.”

  “Yeah. Except we’ll be buried in the concrete foundation of some building somewhere and we’ll never experience the thrill of winning.”

  “I’m going out there.” Shelly reached for her hooded sweatshirt.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I’m not going to confront anyone. I’m merely taking a leisurely walk on a balmy summer night.” She flipped on the kitchen light and strolled through the living room.

  “You are not going. What if…?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “How do you know? They could have guns…. They could have a spaceship—”

  Shelly lifted her chin bravely. “Alien abduction? I’d better take the videocam along, then.”

  “You’re not going out there.”

  “You’re welcome to join me.” Shelly slipped the sweatshirt over her head and opened the door.

  “Oh, my God. Wait. I’ll come just to keep you safe.” Izzy pulled on her windbreaker, grabbed a flashlight and followed Shelly outside. “I hope this is some teenagers making out. It would serve you right.”

  “Shut that light off. We don’t want to announce our arrival.”

  “It’s kind of hard to see.”

  Shelly gestured at the sky. “It’s a full moon. The only clouds are thin cirrostratus, which don’t block any of the moonlight. Wait a few minutes and your eyes will adjust. Did you bring your cell phone?”

  “What for?”

  “In case we need to call the police.”

  “Great. Did you bring yours?”

  “Of course. I’m not a total idiot.”

  Izzy went inside to grab her phone. She couldn’t believe she was going along with this. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  They skirted the edge of the dark woods for a hundred yards, then stepped onto a path heading into the forest. Izzy’s stomach began to jump. She could see the steady beam of the flashlight in the distance. After a couple of minutes, she stopped, jittery from adrenaline. “I don’t think we should both go all the way there. What if it is dangerous—one of us needs to be able to call for help.”

  “Yeah, if we’re both tied to the railroad tracks it might not be so good. You go on ahead,” Shelly whispered. “I’ll wait here and call the police.”

  Izzy scowled at her. “No, you go ahead. This was your idea. If it were up to me, I’d be back at the cottage reading my book or working on our script or something.” She peered into the woods around them, searching for glowing yellow eyes. “Anything other than waiting to be eaten alive in the woods by mosquitoes…or werewolves.”

  “Fine. Give me the flashlight.” Shelly reached for the light and Izzy held it away from her.

  “You’re not leaving me alone in the dark without a light. Why didn’t you bring one of your own?”

  “Izzy. I need to be able to illuminate what’s going on.”

  “And I need to be able to illuminate the path so I can get back to tell the police where you are.”

  “Nothing is going to happen.” Shelly made a grab for the flashlight. “Quit being a baby and give me the light. All you have to do is stand here. If you hear anything odd, dial 911. Your phone is backlit. You can see it in the dark.”

  Izzy handed over the flashlight and watched Shelly head farther into the woods. A twig snapped behind her and she whirled round, heart pounding. Breathe, she told herself. And focus. It was probably just a raccoon. Or a possum. Or a vampire. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around her waist and began to softly hum the tune to “My Favorite Things.”

  Reading. She should be reading right now. Watching television. Going to sleep in a cozy bed. Anything but standing in the woods waiting to be ambushed by…night creatures. She brushed a flyaway hair off her forehead and peered into the blackness toward the mysterious flashlight beam. Then she took her cell phone from her pocket and held it in her hand, ready for an emergency.

  Hands down, this had to be one of the dumbest things she’d ever let herself get talked into. She glanced at the illuminated face on her watch. Shelly had been gone for five minutes. A second beam appeared in the darkness close to the first and her heart began to jackhammer. What did it mean? Had Shelly turned on her light? Or were there even more people out there?

  Suddenly a shriek shattered the silence. Izzy’s heart jumped. Her stomach tightened. The blood began to pound in her ears. A strangled scream followed the first and she dropped to a squat on the ground. She fumbled her phone open and, with shaking fingers, punched in 911. “Help. My friend’s in trouble,” she whispered. She gulped in mouthfuls of air and quickly described what had happened. “We’re at White Bear Lodge. Down a path near Beechwood Cottage. Hurry, because I’m going down there to help and God only knows what I’m going to find.”

  “Miss, you need to stay put,” the female operator said firmly. “We’ll have someone there in minutes.”

  Izzy shut off the phone. She couldn’t abandon Shelly. Reaching out a hand, she groped around on the ground until her fingers closed around
a sturdy stick. Then she hurried down the path as quietly as possible. As she drew near the glow of the flashlights, she slowed her steps and raised the stick to shoulder level, ready for action. Suddenly Shelly’s giggle rippled through the woods toward her, followed by the sound of a familiar male voice. She stopped and squinted into the darkness.

  Gib Murphy?

  What was he doing out here so late?

  Brandishing her stick, Izzy stepped through the underbrush toward Shelly and Gib, furious that she’d had the wits scared out of her. And even more irritated at how utterly cute Gib looked in his sweatshirt, shorts and running shoes. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “I thought you were being murdered. I almost had a heart attack.” She eyed the shovel in Gib’s hand and glared at him. “And what are you doing out here in the dark?”

  “Grave digging.” He raised both hands in surrender, one still holding the shovel.

  Izzy’s eyes widened and both Shelly and Gib laughed.

  “He’s only saying that because I told him you thought there were werewolves out here.” Shelly shone her light into a plastic ice cream pail on the ground. “That’s what he’s doing.”

  Izzy lowered her stick and bent to get a better view. Big fat earthworms writhed around in the black dirt in the container.

  “Ugh!” She jerked up and took a quick step back.

  “Now you see why I screamed,” Shelly said. “He held a shovelful up to me.”

  “I’m digging night crawlers,” Gib said. “Bait. For fishing.”

  “Out here?”

  “They’re near the surface because the ground is always damp.” He picked up a chunk of freshly overturned earth and grasped a fat worm between his thumb and forefinger. “Watch. As this guy tries to dig deeper to escape, he’ll let go of his grip on the soil—” Gib pulled the night crawler free “—and then he’s mine.” He dropped the worm into the bucket.

  “How fascinating,” Izzy said.

  “You two ever been fishing?”

  “My dad took me a couple times when I was a kid,” Shelly said less than enthusiastically.