my undergrad at Ole Miss, I worked summers and weekends for him. I remember him talking about this particular brand of house wrap and how one of his competitors was using it. It allowed the other guy to come in with lower bids, but Bubba wouldn’t touch the stuff. Said it was a rip-off.”
“Doesn’t really surprise me,” I chimed in. “Hal can squeeze a dollar until it squeals. Maybe that’s how the Brainerd contractor was able to underbid Steve, because he plans to use substandard materials.”
“True,” Sean said, turning his head to survey the delicate curve of Badger Lake’s shoreline, “but what a waste to erect shoddy condos on this beautiful property.”
We wandered through the huddle of buildings, each the same as the last.
“Given how much work they have to do to finish these out, they don’t seem to have many building materials lying around. I would expect huge stacks of shingles and bags of plaster, not to mention an earthmover or two to clear out that last section of property.” He pointed to the far end of the old camp, where stakes were set in the ground indicating new builds, but the land was still covered in low brambles and mounds of dirt.
“So what does that mean?” I asked.
“Well, it makes me even more curious about what Daniel was doing out here. It doesn’t look like there’s that much work going on. Nothing to watch.”
We completed our tour of the property, finding nothing else of interest, and were just about to give up and start the long walk home when a voice called out from the trailer parked right by the water’s edge.
“No trespassing.” The voice was little more than a growl, so gravelly it was difficult to understand. “I gotta gun.” That statement was punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a round sliding into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun.
The three of us turned around slowly. There, in the trailer’s open doorway, stood a woman in a purple flowered muumuu, a cigarette dangling from her coral-painted lips, and her weapon leveled right at the three of us.
“Son of a—” Sean muttered beneath his breath. “I knew you two would find a way to get killed.”
I shushed him softly, trying not to agitate the woman who could blow us all away with a twitch of her finger.
Rena raised her hands in a sign of surrender. “Dee Dee? Dee Dee Lahti?”
“Yeah. Who’re you?”
“It’s Rena Hamilton.”
Dee Dee cracked a laugh, the sound like the rasp of sandpaper over raw wood. “Dang, girl, I didn’t recognize you with your hair that color. Last time I saw you, it was kind of a teal.”
Rena had a pretty distinctive look. Apart from barelyclearing five feet, she had a ladder of earrings marching up her lobes, a studded collar around her neck, an old Ramones T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, and enough black eyeliner to write out a novel. No matter what color her hair happened to be, it was hard to mistake her for anyone other than who she was.
“Right,” Rena replied. “I think that was last Veterans Day. I brought Dad to the party at the VFW and you were there with Kevin.”
I had never had the pleasure of meeting either Dee Dee or Kevin Lahti, but the couple had quite a reputation. Dee Dee was Merryville’s resident crazy dog lady. She and Kevin lived in a little house on the edge of town, where Dee Dee kept at least a dozen dogs. She was known for her ratted bleached-blond hair, the circles of brilliant lipstick she used to outline her mouth, and the endless stream of Parliaments hanging from her mouth, often with a precarious inch-long column of ash shivering at the end.
In short, Dee Dee was crazy, but—the shotgun aside—basically harmless.
Her husband, Kevin, on the other hand, was as dangerous as an angry badger. He’d done a couple of stints in Stillwater for aggravated robbery and made his money off the books, leading hunting, fishing, and canoeing expeditions. He was too rough around the edges to appeal to Merryville’s tourist
“Doesn’t really surprise me,” I chimed in. “Hal can squeeze a dollar until it squeals. Maybe that’s how the Brainerd contractor was able to underbid Steve, because he plans to use substandard materials.”
“True,” Sean said, turning his head to survey the delicate curve of Badger Lake’s shoreline, “but what a waste to erect shoddy condos on this beautiful property.”
We wandered through the huddle of buildings, each the same as the last.
“Given how much work they have to do to finish these out, they don’t seem to have many building materials lying around. I would expect huge stacks of shingles and bags of plaster, not to mention an earthmover or two to clear out that last section of property.” He pointed to the far end of the old camp, where stakes were set in the ground indicating new builds, but the land was still covered in low brambles and mounds of dirt.
“So what does that mean?” I asked.
“Well, it makes me even more curious about what Daniel was doing out here. It doesn’t look like there’s that much work going on. Nothing to watch.”
We completed our tour of the property, finding nothing else of interest, and were just about to give up and start the long walk home when a voice called out from the trailer parked right by the water’s edge.
“No trespassing.” The voice was little more than a growl, so gravelly it was difficult to understand. “I gotta gun.” That statement was punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a round sliding into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun.
The three of us turned around slowly. There, in the trailer’s open doorway, stood a woman in a purple flowered muumuu, a cigarette dangling from her coral-painted lips, and her weapon leveled right at the three of us.
“Son of a—” Sean muttered beneath his breath. “I knew you two would find a way to get killed.”
I shushed him softly, trying not to agitate the woman who could blow us all away with a twitch of her finger.
Rena raised her hands in a sign of surrender. “Dee Dee? Dee Dee Lahti?”
“Yeah. Who’re you?”
“It’s Rena Hamilton.”
Dee Dee cracked a laugh, the sound like the rasp of sandpaper over raw wood. “Dang, girl, I didn’t recognize you with your hair that color. Last time I saw you, it was kind of a teal.”
Rena had a pretty distinctive look. Apart from barelyclearing five feet, she had a ladder of earrings marching up her lobes, a studded collar around her neck, an old Ramones T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, and enough black eyeliner to write out a novel. No matter what color her hair happened to be, it was hard to mistake her for anyone other than who she was.
“Right,” Rena replied. “I think that was last Veterans Day. I brought Dad to the party at the VFW and you were there with Kevin.”
I had never had the pleasure of meeting either Dee Dee or Kevin Lahti, but the couple had quite a reputation. Dee Dee was Merryville’s resident crazy dog lady. She and Kevin lived in a little house on the edge of town, where Dee Dee kept at least a dozen dogs. She was known for her ratted bleached-blond hair, the circles of brilliant lipstick she used to outline her mouth, and the endless stream of Parliaments hanging from her mouth, often with a precarious inch-long column of ash shivering at the end.
In short, Dee Dee was crazy, but—the shotgun aside—basically harmless.
Her husband, Kevin, on the other hand, was as dangerous as an angry badger. He’d done a couple of stints in Stillwater for aggravated robbery and made his money off the books, leading hunting, fishing, and canoeing expeditions. He was too rough around the edges to appeal to Merryville’s tourist
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