Death Stalks Door County: A Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery

8. Week Two: Sunday Morning

79 8 Week Two: Sun­ day Morn­ ing Cu­ biak woke with a bad feel­ ing and an even worse hang­ over. Drag­ ging him­ self from bed, he tried to burn away both af­ flic­ tions with a pun­ ish­ ing hot ­ shower. He knew Bath­ ard was dis­ ap­ pointed with him. ­ Wasn’t every­ one? He’d fal­ len far short of his ­ mother’s ex­ pec­ ta­ tions, ­ failed his wife and daugh­ ter in the worst pos­ sible way, and ­ walked out on his part­ ner. Mal­ colm had meant well, send­ ing him to Door ­ County, not re­ al­ iz­ ing that it was ­ Cubiak’s fate to be a major ­ fuck-up. Tow­ el­ ing off, the ­ ranger ­ caught his ­ blurred image in the ­ clouded mir­ ror. He’d be­ come slo­ venly and dis­ so­ lute. A ­ broken man, like his­ father. If fail­ ure was des­ tiny, then Cu­ biak had ful­ filled his. En­ gulfed in gloom, he de­ scended to the ­ kitchen. ­ Johnson’s up­ turned mug was al­ ready in the ­ drainer, a stern, si­ lent af­ front. Ruta ­ frowned and­ slapped a ball of dough on the coun­ ter. After brush­ ing flour from her hands, she ­ shoved a steam­ ing mug at him. “You drink,” she said. Her com­ ment was ei­ ther a di­ rec­ tive or a bit­ ter cri­ tique of his be­ hav­ ior. “Yes, I drink,” Cu­ biak said and swal­ lowed a mouth­ ful of scald­ ing cof­ fee. 80 Late for ­ rounds, he ­ skipped eat­ ing and ­ chain-smoked three cig­ ar­ ettes. Driv­ ing ­ through Pe­ nin­ sula Park was like play­ ing dodge ball with human tar­ gets. En­ thu­ sias­ tic day vis­ i­ tors ­ streamed in ­ through the en­ trance, their ve­ hi­ cles piled with pic­ nic sup­ plies and ­ weighted down with bikes and kay­ aks. Happy camp­ ers ­ thronged the ­ park’s over­ night fa­ cil­ ities. Their tents and awn­ ings and tarps flut­ tered open and trans­ formed the for­ est into a spark­ ling ka­ lei­ do­ scope of shape and color. The park as play­ ground. Pre­ cisely what John­ son ­ loathed. Eight days ear­ lier Larry Wisby had died at Fal­ con Tower. Ter­ rible as his death was, it had been ­ eclipsed by more re­ cent ­ events. Ul­ ti­ mately all six ­ deaths were over­ shad­ owed by ­ Beck’s ­ single-minded de­ ter­ mi­ na­ tion to save the fes­ ti­ val and the sum­ mer, a de­ ci­ sion the other of­ fi­ cials em­ braced with lit­ tle hes­ i­ ta­ tion. A mis­ take? ­ Surely. And yet, Cu­ biak grudg­ ingly ad­ mit­ ted, the ­ county de­ pended on the tour­ ist econ­ omy; hys­ teria ­ served no good pur­ pose. Cu­ biak found Beck wait­ ing at Jen­ sen Sta­ tion. His hair was ­ mussed and his ­ clothes had a ­ slept-in look. “We need to talk,” he said, push­ ing away from the Mer­ cedes and steer­ ing the ­ ranger into a stand of ma­ ples be­ hind the gar­ age. “The day Ben Mack­ lin died, he ­ hooked up with an old drunk named Buddy Ent­ whis­ tle. You know who he is?” ­ Beck’s tone was low key but in­ fused with a ­ hard-to-miss under­ cur­ rent of ur­ gency. He ­ didn’t wait for an an­ swer. “Doesn’t mat­ ter. The two were drink­ ing at ­ Pechta’s for a­ couple, ­ two-three hours be­ fore ­ Macklin’s boat blew up. Later, Ent­ whis­ tle told Ame­ lia that Benny said there were two peo­ ple on Fal­ con Tower the morn­ ing of the busi­ ness with Wisby.” Mack­ lin had been out fish­ ing, Beck ex­ plained, and was head­ ing home after sell­ ing his haul when he’d seen them. Beck ­ glanced ­ around, mak­ ing sure he ­ hadn’t been over­ heard. “Well?” he said fi­ nally. Cu­ biak con­ jured up the map he’d no­ ticed at ­ Pechta’s the night of­ Macklin’s un­ of­ fi­ cial wake. Could he have been right? “Well, what?” he said. 81 Beck ­ scoffed. “You’re a real dick, you know that? Any­ ways, Ent­ whis­ tle tells Ame­ lia, and Ame­ lia ­ passes the info on to Hal...