A section of "Murder on the North Shore"

“Oh yeah, lots of people hike this, especially this section. It’s one of the most popular. I mean, I don’t want to give you the impression it’s Hennepin Avenue busy or anything like that, but every few miles you meet people, kind of like the BWCA where you tend to meet a lot of people on the portages. Here, you see them more near the trailheads and sometimes in between. Also, one of the best parts of hiking long stretches is that you can hike off the trail to state park campgrounds or  pick designated spots  right on the trail. It’s very cool.”

Triscuit took a stab in the dark. “You don’t happen to remember meeting a young woman hiking alone? It would have been over a year ago.”

The hiker laughed. “Well, that narrows it down, but remember that woman who went missing hiking this trail alone? Well, my friends and I talked about that after it happened, and we did meet a woman who matched the description, but…who knows, could have been her, but probably not.”

“Where was she, and what direction was she going?” Hodges asked.

“Funny you should ask. It wasn’t far from here, in fact, it was just after the next trailhead, and she was going the way you’re heading now.”

“Did you ever tell the sheriff about it?” Triscuit asked.

“Yeah, we did, but we just didn’t have much information beyond what we told you so I don’t think it helped them at all. They showed us pictures of her, but none of us could be sure it was the same woman, so it probably wasn’t.”

After a little more inconsequential talk about the encounter, Triscuit and Hodges thanked the young man and resumed their hike with a little more spring in their steps.

A visibly excited Hodges took the lead and flailed his arms as he spoke. “This could be important. If this was the woman who disappeared, than we have a timeline and a location where she might have gone missing.”

“Listen, Jasper, the sheriff and the police combed this entire area looking for her and found absolutely nothing. Dozens of volunteers walked the trail, off the trail, some searching for miles beyond where she was thought to have gone missing. There were no signs of her anywhere.”

“Just like my friend, Mr. Tryton,” Hodges said.

They stopped, and Hodges leaned on a beefy, tree trunk while Triscuit stood a few feet away. He slowly pulled the Crusher from his head and mashed it into a ball. He loved that he could do that and the hat would resume it’s natural form when he opened it up again.

“These people, my friend, Seth, didn’t just disappear,” Hodges said as he mashed and then reformed the hat. “To simply vanish, does not make sense to me.”

“It does if they all ended up in Lake Superior. Because of the coldness and bacteria in the lake, they don’t ever see the surface again. Lots of people have never been recovered from the lake,” Triscuit said.

“Oh please… the theory of the man falling into the smaller lake, drifting out of that lake, to the river, down various waterfalls, and eventually settling into Lake Superior is absurd. That man was snatched by someone. And Seth, we have direct evidence that another man pretended to be him and then probably moved his car to the parking area near the lake to give the impression that Seth was drinking and drowned when he fell over a chest high barrier into the channel where the ore boats enter and exit the harbor. Ridiculous! They dragged the harbor and channel and found nothing. And the woman, did she also fall in the water and end up in the lake? Does that make sense?” His eyes were hot and determined as he looked at her.

She said nothing for several seconds, wavering in her own convictions until she spoke, “No, no; it doesn’t.” She stood still for a moment longer and then quietly said, “They could all be alive.” 

Hodges cooled down and nodded. “That is what I am hoping.” 

Next snippet, Murder on the North Shore

Karonen dragged Cassie to his truck. 

I shouldn’t have hit her so hard! Dead or relaxed weight was heavy. He knew that from experience. Lucky for him, she had made it to the road. Carefully letting Cassie down after dragging her for twenty yards, he jogged back to the truck and drove it to her. With difficulty, he hoisted her partially onto the bed of the truck, and, holding her upper body in place, he hefted the rest of her in. After shutting the liftgate, he closed the tonneau cover, quickly returned to the drivers seat and drove back to his home.

Safely back in her quarters, he waited for her to wake. An hour and a half later, she still had not awakened.

He tried shaking her, yelling her name; nothing worked. Karonen paced inside her cell. This would not do. It had been stupid of him to let her escape in the first place. Now, what do I have to work with?

It was an experiment gone bad. He had only wanted to study her reactions, her emotions, and then glean information from her after recapture.

Cassie stirred, then moaned.

Karonen’s hopes jumped. She’s going to make it! A joyous smile appeared on his desperate looking face. He went to her, feverishly arranging her on the bed as she continued to moan. She’ll be okay, she’ll be okay. He didn’t need another companion gone bad. 

The fisherman had been an error. He faulted his judgement for taking him in the first place.

Six months prior to chancing upon Miss Bandleson on the Superior Hiking Trail, he had made the mistake of taking Tom Hecimovich, a younger man than he who was strong and determined. Eventually, Mr. Hecimovich needed to be dealt with in a most severe manner. His body would never be found; Karonen was sure of that.

The palpable relief he now felt released all emotion from him. He sat on the folding chair he kept in Bandleson’s room, and breathed deeply and buried his face in his hands. Five minutes later, after resolving to trap another male, he walked over to Bandleson. 

She opened her eyes and stared at him.

“Welcome back, Cassie,” he said warmly.

She closed her eyes again and turned her face away. He patted her arm and then left.

Pausing at the gate to her chamber, he glanced back, as if he wasn’t quite sure she was all right. Karonen was satisfied when he observed her move to her side; he latched the gate.

“Good night, Cassie,” he said.

Ten hours later, Cassie opened her eyes again. She moved from her side to her back. The bed she lay in was comfortable, to the point of annoyance. She didn’t want to be comfortable in her prison. Anger and despair filled her head as she ruminated about her lost opportunity for escape.

Thinking of escape again, she took stock of her functioning body parts; she moved her arms, legs, fingers, and toes. Everything worked, although her ankle and head still hurt. Cassie also noted she was not chained in any way. She was surprised, but happy for that circumstance.

Her “room” was a rock and timber chamber with a bed, a small bookcase filled with classic literature, a round, wooden table, a mirror, a thick area rug covering half the floor, a chandelier hanging from a massive timber in the center, a portable toilet, and a wash basin. A bucket of fresh water was always provided. At least it always seemed fresh. If she thought of the “room” as a bedroom, it was much larger than anything she had ever possessed. It was probably thirty feet by fifteen with a ceiling height of ten. She could put a children’s basketball court in here, or a wine rack near the folding chair, or flowers on the shelf above the bed. 

She was disgusted with herself. Don’t start thinking of this place as a home. It’s a prison!

While staring at the walls, Cassie stood, walked to the nearest one, and ran a hand along it until she had circled the room. Why isn’t it damp? It should be wet, at least a little. She pondered the question, but didn’t resolve it. During her stay of nine days or so, she couldn’t be sure, the question had never occurred to her before. It doesn’t matter. What difference would it make? 

She sat on the bed and sighed deeply, holding her face in her hands.

I can’t believe I ran right into him! Idiot.  Next time I won’t make the same mistake.

She heard the familiar sound of footsteps and readied herself for the appearance of Mr. Karonen.

“Good, you’re awake. You had a rough night so I brought you croissants, cheese, and meats. The cheese is a nice Blue Castello. It has a soft, buttery and tangy taste. I’m sure you’ll love it,” Karonen said. “And the meats are fresh from the tourist trap right down the highway. The water is from my tap, good Lake Superior water.” He smiled, and placed the tray he had meticulously arranged on the table near her bed. 

The tourist trap down the road? She filed another note in her head. Cassie said nothing, but stared at Karonen, who looked like a jovial grandfather.  She thought, What was wrong with this man?

Karonen seemed to wait for her to speak, so finally, she said it without emotion. “What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?”

He flinched a little before he said, “The croissant is warm and you will want to spread the cheese on it before it gets cold. Please enjoy your meal and we’ll talk later.”

“Mr. Karonen, we need to talk now.” Again, she said it evenly, which seemed to take him off guard.

It was his turn to stare. She stared back…waiting for him to speak.

“I collected you.”

“You collected me.”

He looked away, as if he was searching for something on the wall to her left. She turned to where he stared. On the wall was the photo she had noticed before, but never given much thought. It was a young woman, not pretty, but pleasant looking.

He continued to stare at the photo as if he were immersing himself in every fine detail and extracting every scintilla of emotion he could from it.

“Who is she?” She finally asked.

“Methodist was her name,” he said.

She noted the word ‘was’.

“Do I remind you of her?” She asked.

He smiled wryly. “No,” he said, and then shook his head. The action seemed to relieve him of his absorption with the photo. “No, you are nothing like Methodist.” He paused slightly before he backed from the cell and latched the gate. “I’ll come back for your plate later.”

Cassie looked down and plucked a croissant from the tray. She spread a thick mass of the Blue Castello cheese on it, and then took a large bite of heaven. 

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Another unedited snippet from "Murder on the North Shore"

Her ankle burned; it still bore the marks of leg irons. Reflexively, she rubbed it with both hands. The night was black, interrupted only by a sliver of light from the moon. Sitting on a rock, surrounded by trees, Cassie Bandleson wondered where the hell she was. The opening in the hill that she had crawled from was several hundred yards away. Which direction? She scarcely knew anymore. 

Perspiration dripped from her face to the arm of her flannel shirt. She strained to see anything that would help her decide which direction to run, because run she must. He could return and discover she was gone. Distance needed to be put between her and her prison of ten days, twenty…she really didn’t know how long. There had been no way of telling day from night, only her sleeping patterns helped her estimate the time. Her best guess was that she had been a prisoner of the man for eighteen days.

Cassie stood. Trying to ignore the pain, she stumbled through the dark, brush tearing at her clothes, rocks smashing into her knees, and tree branches swatting her head. My God, I’ve got to make it out of here! Run! 

Her legs pumped her forward as her steeled heart ordered her body to move, and move quickly. She extended her arms and hands in front to protect her face from all obstacles, seen and unseen. Cassie didn’t wonder how her body could take this punishment; when you are running for your life, you don’t care. You just… move.

She pushed forward, the forest seeming to rise up against her, tearing, clutching, ripping at her clothes. And then she fell and tumbled, slamming into trees and boulders before coming to rest at the bottom of a ravine. Breathing heavily, she slowly tried to move her limbs, first her arms, then legs. She laughed. All’s well.

Hearing the rumble of some sort of vehicle in the distance, her hopes rose. Go that way. She literally pointed with her left hand and unconsciously limped toward the sound, but more carefully now. Take it slow.

Following the ravine, which seemed more like a cut in the hillside, she knew she was descending; her momentum was always downhill, even if she couldn’t see well, she could feel it.  The shallow walls of the ravine gave her a sense of being protected. She even started to believe it.

Voices! She heard voices; she was sure of it. Picking her way toward the sound, she was able to tell it was from a radio talk show, playing much too loudly. Maybe it was a couple of kids parked, making out, whatever, they were going to get a surprise from a beaten up, struggling hiker. She smiled as she worked her way closer.

She stood in the shadows, observing, looking for signs of life from the pickup. It was getting later. The radio talk turned to jazz. No kids would be listening to jazz. She turned and melted further into the forest, sneaking a worried peek back at the truck. The dome light was on. Someone had opened the door. She started moving away faster and breathing harder. It was him! Soon she was flailing at branches and running, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst from her chest. 

A tree branch caught her in the eye, causing an involuntary scream to mini-erupt from her mouth. Tears came quickly. Hysteria was near as she realized he might have heard the cry. Now, nearly blind in one eye, lost in the night, body aching, she calmed herself as best she could and limped away… until… a flashlight beam illuminated her. Hysteria took full hold, and she turned the other way, screaming, crashing through the brush and trees with the beam of light partially showing her the way until she emerged on a gravel road.

Thunderous footsteps were close behind. She screamed as loud as she could and turned to face him. She flailed her arms and struck out forcefully. The light enveloped her, and pain wracked her head as she went down, crying…and then darkness.

Return to Insula (beginning passage)

Isabel, Kellan’s ninety-year-old mother, dabbed her eyes with a red, checkered handkerchief and cried openly.  Kellan watched.  He felt dead; as cold and dead as Gabe who lay in the cheap pine box he was displayed in. An hour from now, Gabe would go up in flames.  He had always let it be known that he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread across Insula Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.

Kellan and Jack, his brothers, would make it happen.  The preparations had already been completed.  Gear and food had been packed.  Tomorrow morning the brothers would load Gabe’s ashes into a hefty bag and stuff them into their camp pack.  

Jack stood next to Kellan, nudged his brother and nodded toward Mavis Telluride, an old girlfriend of Gabe’s.

“They’re coming from everywhere,” Jack said.

“Gabe had a lot of friends across the states.  He was one of a kind.” Several seconds passed before Kellan added, “People remember someone like him, I guess. Friendly, but dangerous.”

Jack laughed, not out loud, but between the two of them as they stood in the receiving line.

“Billy Bobtail didn’t know how dangerous,” Jack said. And then, “At least Gabe took him down with him.  I’m glad of that.”  

Bobtail had been shot with Gabe’s revolver; blood and guts spread over Gabe’s chest, stomach and the tree hut he lived in. The sheriff said it appeared as if they had fought. Gabe died of a knife wound to his chest.  

The authorities pieced together the likely scenario. Bobtail had recently been released from prison and tracked Gabe to his hut in the woods. They theorized his intention was to exact revenge over the incident in the Boundary Waters two years before. A fight ensued and both men died at the hands of the other. It was a neat and simple conclusion; one the surviving brothers had no reason to doubt.

Visitors finally approached them. They shuffled their feet and began shaking hands with the friends and family who were paying their last respects.

Tomorrow, the brothers would load Gabe’s ashes into Kellan’s Ford Escape and the three of them would head for Insula Lake. 

Another section of Murder on the North Shore

Tryton only hesitated a moment before accepting the offer. He followed Karonen’s truck to Finland. Twenty minutes after they left Palisade Head, Tryton pulled up beside an isolated two story house at the base of a four-hundred foot hill covered by dying paper birch and quaking aspen.

Stepping slowly from his vehicle, Tryton stood and looked at the hills. “Looks like a lot of the North Shore here. Lots of dying trees,” he said.

Karonen, who had emerged from his truck a few moments earlier, said, “Climate change; since the 1890’s, the average temperature has risen two degrees up here. That’s not the only reason they’re dying, of course, but the scientists say that seems to be the major one. The birch and aspen are being replaced by scrub brush such as alder, hazel, and common tansy. It’s sad. The North woods has changed from red pine and white cedar, most of which were logged to near extinction, to paper birch and quaking aspen, to what you see now. The soil has become drier, rainstorms more condensed, along with more dangerous fire conditions. All these new species do best with light. With the added light they can really establish a thick mat and essentially choke off any other plants that are trying to get established in the area. It’s a long story if you want to hear it.”

Tryton scrunched his lips together and muttered, “Some other time. How about that whiskey you mentioned?”

“Come on in,” Karonen said as he motioned for Tryton to follow.

The house had an old, musty smell that hit Tryton’s nose as soon as he entered. He blinked and made a face. Karonen didn’t notice as he moved quickly to his liquor ledge in the nearby kitchen.

“Pick a chair and sit down. I’ll be right back with a tall one. Jameson whiskey okay with you?”

Still trying to get the odor of the house from his nose, Tryton answered, “That’ll be more than fine.” He selected a newer looking, straight back chair and plopped down.  A minute later, Karonen appeared with two glasses. “Hope you don’t mind, I mixed ‘em with sour.”

Tryton accepted the glass and said, “Sounds great to me.”

They conversed about the history of the North Shore until Karonen finally got around to mentioning areas to visit: the Tofte dump, great for bear watching, Carlton Peak, Hog Creek, and the Superior Hiking Trail.

Tryton felt tired and mentioned that he should be getting back to his motel before he got too bad.

Rising to his feet, Karonen said, “You want to see one last thing before you go.”

Tryton shook his head slowly as he stood, “Oh no, I’ve got to go straight to the motel. I’m not feeling really great here, Peter.” Having become more familiar, they had started calling each other by first names.

“It’ll just take a minute, Seth. And it’s right here in the house.” Tryton began to protest, but Karonen waved him off with a follow me gesture.

He led him to the back of the house to a monstrous looking, wooden fireplace mantel and surround.

Karonen beamed as he directed Tryton’s gaze to it. Tryton pursed his lips, squinted, and then said, “That’s very nice, Peter.”

“You’re going to sound more impressed when I show you what’s behind it.” Before Tryton could respond, Karonen grabbed hold of a roughly carved section, pulled hard. 

“What the hell?” Tryton looked stupefied.

When the surround was completely opened, Karonen stepped inside the darkened area and flipped a switch. Rock and red, clay walls, supported by ancient timbers were revealed.

“I found this by accident,” Karonen began. “I have no idea who built it, but, as you can see from the look of the timbers, it’s been here for a while.”

Tryton asked, “Is it safe?”

“I’ve been in here many times. Come in, Seth." Karonen beckoned him with his hand and then walked deeper into the opening. Tryton, taller than Karonen, hunched over and walked in. Fifty feet into the tunnel it widened and became a chamber. 

“I’m a little dizzy, Peter, I…I… need to sit down.”

Karonen watched Tryton stumble, but not lose his footing. He approached and took Tryton by the elbow to loan support. 

“Here, Seth, sit down here.” Karonen guided him to what looked like a stool carved out of the rock wall. Tryton dropped to the rock chair and held his head.

“Something’s not feeling right, Peter. Maybe I can’t hold my liquor anymore.” Tryton took several deep breaths, moaned, and held his head in his hands. His vision was getting fuzzy and the room was spinning. Karonen supported him as he collapsed onto the dirt and gravel floor. 

Karonen checked Tryton’s pulse. It was strong, but slow. Satisfied that Seth was merely feeling the effects of the drug Karonen had slipped in his drink, and not suffering from a heart attack or stroke, Karonen let him lie on the floor while he prepared the next chamber for Tryton’s stay.

The Wallflower Reunion---short story

He watched in the mirror as the blood followed a slow, convoluted path and dribbled down his neck.  The hand holding the razor froze, as a paralyzing thought pounded his brain.  What if she doesn’t recognize me?  Frightened and horrified, he stood in his underwear and stared into the mirror. 

Moments later, his attention returned to the razor cut dribbling a growing amount of blood onto the soft folds of skin that coursed across his neck.  Rick Steps snatched a wad of toilet paper and dabbed at the blood.  Too much blood.  He collected another wad and pressed it hard against the stinging razor nick, holding it until he thought it would stop bleeding.

He left a torn sheet of toilet paper stuck to the slit in his neck, knowing from experience it would stanch the flow of blood and allow him to continue shaving.  Negative, troubling thoughts continued to plague him until he finished up, removed the toilet paper, and made sure the wound would not bleed anymore.

The high school reunion dinner would begin at six tonight at the local country club.  Everyone would have to walk up the grand entrance stairs to the upper level where the welcoming committee would be waiting.  Chrissie Manuess would be among them. 

The room was not warm, but a cold sweat broke out, sending rivulets of perspiration running into his eyes  He grabbed a hand towel and pressed it against his face and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, it’s only 7:30 a.m. and I’m already anxious about this whole thing.”  After taking a deep breath, he let the cold water faucet run while dipping both hands into the cooling spray and splashing his face and forehead.  

I am an important attorney of law.  I’ve argued cases in front of the Minnesota Supreme Court and won, for God’s sake!  Why am I so nervous about a stupid, high school class reunion?  It’s been thirty years!  The perspiration made a reappearance on his forehead.  He splashed more cold water on his face.  I’m forty-eight years old, been married, divorced, raised children.  I am successful and reasonably good looking. 

He threw up in the toilet. 

Vomit had splashed his underwear so he peeled them off and slipped another pair on.  Dressing quickly before another wave of nausea returned, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of French Roast before plucking yesterday’s local newspaper from the front porch landing. 

He retreated to his den where he sat in his favorite chair and began reading.  Unable to concentrate on any story except the one concerning the upcoming 30th high school reunion, he turned the page and read. 

The reunion would begin with a dinner at the Stanton Country Club Friday night at 6 pm.

Tonight!  

It ended Sunday with a bicycle ride through the woods of the nearby nature center; a beautiful, hilly trail that also passed through restored prairie lands and tall, old growth pin oaks.  The area had once been owned by a financially successful family who donated it to the city.  It was appropriately named, The Stanton Nature Center.  Along with the Stanton Country Club and Stanton grocery stores, it was the most robust symbol of the power of one family to dominate a community, and then give something back.

Steps laid the paper on the wide arm of the chair he sat on, leaned backward, and tried to analyze his irrational fear of meeting Chrissie Manuess again.  He had been a wallflower in high school, extremely shy and unable to make friends or talk to a girl.  He had wanted to try out for sports but was cursed with a total lack of confidence in his physical abilities.  He had never considered himself ugly, and one of his aunts had always gushed over “how good looking” Ricky was, but it was never enough to liberate him from his shell and take chances.

Beginning in eighth grade, Chrissie Manuess had always fascinated him and made his heart ache with desire, but, it wasn’t until a momentous day in high school when a ring hit the hallway floor near his locker and came spinning toward him that a social opening occurred.  Quickly, he bent down to pick it up, and as he rose, saw Chrissie Manuess smiling that million dollar smile as she walked to him.

“Uh, is this yours?” he stammered as he held it out for her.  She took it with all the grace of the Queen of England.

“Yes, it is, thank you so much for getting it for me.”  Her gaze lingered as she waited for him to say something clever, or so he thought.  For days, weeks, months after “the incident” he kicked and cursed himself for his response.

“Uh, that’s okay.” 

Rick turned to his locker and resumed imputing the combination to the padlock. Stupid, stupid, stupid!   

Chrissie Manuess remained standing while she watched Rick, then finally, slowly, sadly, walked away as Rick ignored her. 

My God, how could I have been so stupid, he thought.  She threw her ring down in front of me so I would pick it up, give it back, and then we would talk.  I’m sure that’s what she did.  She made the first move and I blew it.  Well, I’m not going to blow it this time…I hope.  But wait, maybe she’s married now with several kids and how could I…

The doorbell rang.  He got up and rushed to the front door and opened it.  A Fed Ex driver held a package and an invoice to sign.  He scribbled his name, thanked the driver as he accepted the package and brought it inside.  It must be the running shoes he had ordered online.  He had never ordered shoes online before, never trusted the sizing, but gambled on these.  He tore the package open.

Adidas Ultra Boost: lightweight, perfect balance and fantastic support.  He turned one shoe in his hands, admiring the sleek styling and feather-like weight.  I’ve gotta try these right now.  Running will help me relax a little.

He changed into his running clothes and burst out the front door.  His run began down the front sidewalk, across the street and then onto the twisting roads of the cemetery.  It was devoid of living, breathing humans, except for himself.  Runner’s high hit him like he was flying through clouds.  All his anxiety disappeared as his speed increased.  He felt as light as a blade of grass when he exited the other side of the cemetery, flew onto fourth street, and headed north to the fairgrounds.

He ducked onto the entrance driveway, slowed his pace, and listened to the farmyard noises that emanated from the buildings that were stocked full of sheep, cows, pigs, and their Future Farmers of America teenage handlers.  He wound around and in between the buildings, finally leaving the fairgrounds through a backstreet alley that took him behind a tiny strip mall.  After two miles of slow jogging, he hit his turnaround point and looped back toward his house. 

Rick began running full tilt, maintaining all-out effort for two blocks before backing off and slowing his heart rate.  He kept up interval training for the last mile and a half of his run, alternating between full-out sprints and a near walking pace. 

When he reached his driveway, he finished his last sprint and walked to the front door.  Checking his FitBit, he noted his pulse was a hundred sixty-five, smiled approvingly, and walked in through his unlocked front door.

Showering for the second time that morning left him refreshed, as he took his time and reveled in his relaxed state of mind.  The anxiety experienced earlier, did not return, leaving him with the comforting thought he was over it and would be fine when he attended the dinner tonight. 

He spent the remainder of the late morning and afternoon reviewing an upcoming case and then rewriting some of his own recreational essays he planned to share with his writing group next week.

Five p.m. caught him by surprise as he was still deep in thought.  Closing his laptop computer with an intense slam of the lid, he worried about damaging it, so quickly opened and checked to make sure everything still worked.  Satisfied that it did, he closed it carefully this time, and rushed into his bedroom to dress for this evenings dinner. 

While checking himself out in the mirror, he saw that the razor cut on his neck was no longer noticeable.  Moving to the full-length mirror in the hallway, he admired the figure he cut in the impressive power suit he chose to wear tonight.  Chrissie Manuess beware!  Not a scintilla of anxiety affected him.  He was pleased.  Retreating to routine and making sure he looked good in his new suit had done wonders for his mindset.

He popped a breath mint in his mouth, plucked his car keys from the hook next to the refrigerator, and stepped into the attached garage where his Audi R8 Spyder with six speed manual transmission and Quattro all wheel drive awaited.  If she sees me drive up in this, she will be impressed.  The car’s starting price was $129,000 and he had added several, expensive options.

After settling into the luxurious drivers seat, he opened the near-silent garage door and eased the Audi R8 out the driveway and onto the empty street.  Driving carefully, he used fifteen minutes to accomplish the normally ten-minute drive to the Stanton Country Club.  He parked in his normal spot. 

Flushed with confidence, Rick exited the Audi and did his lawyer walk to the massive front doors of the club. 

“Rick?  Is that you,” Henry Wallace asked as he met him while opening the door in Rick’s face.

Rick flashed a smile, but didn’t remember the classmate, so he gave him a questioning look.

“Henry Wallace!” The man blurted.  “I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me.  I’m a hundred forty pounds less than I was in high school.”

Rick tried to remember, but honestly couldn’t match a face or obese body to the name.  So he lied.

“Henry,” he marveled.  Looking him up and down, Rick sounded sincere when he said, “I can’t believe it.  You look great!  How’d you do it?”

“Low carb diet.  Julie and I both went on it six years ago and the weight just flew off.”

A pretty woman stepped between the two men.  Rick couldn’t help but notice the shapely figure and blond hair as she stood for a second and looked at him.

“Julie?” He ventured a guess.

“I can’t believe you remember me,” Julie gushed.  But then she added, “I was so fat back then with no friends… except Henry.”  She looked up at Henry, making it obvious she adored him.

“Well, I was pretty different then too, I can hardly believe that Henry recognized me right away.”  An awkward silence engulfed them for several moments until Henry and Julie excused themselves to retrieve a couple bottles of Seven Deadly Zins from the trunk of their Lexus.

Reverting to the shy, high schooler he had been thirty years ago, Rick stuttered, “Uh, okay.  I’ll see you inside later, Henry…and Julie.”

Get a hold of yourself.   You are Rick Steps, Attorney at Law.

Despite his self admonitions, his legs were wobbly as he ascended the stairs where the welcoming committee awaited him.  A diminishing line of classmates was ahead of him.  The line was long enough so that he could not see any of the welcoming committee.  He chit chatted with a man and his wife directly in front of him as the line seemed to, no, definitely sped up, and Chrissie Manuess, in all her beauty appeared.  Shoulder length hair was still blond, although maybe touched up a little, he thought. Her lips appeared more full and sensuous than he remembered.  And her figure, My God, what a knockout she still was. 

His knees wobbled and his heart pounded, as he keenly felt beads of perspiration form on his forehead.  It’s a good thing I brought my handkerchief.  He surreptitiously removed it from his jacket and dabbed along his hairline and brow.

He barely managed to comprehend a word said to him by the couple in front of him, as his eyes remained focused on Chrissie.  Chrissie! 

She was eight feet away; beyond gorgeous in a pale, blue designer dress cut just below the knee.  A white corsage pinned to her shoulder strap appeared to reflect her perfect skin tone.  She smiled and shook hands or hugged every classmate in line, laughing that perfect laugh.

She was so close that the scent of her body wash, perfume, or whatever glorious concoction she wore wafted past his senses and drifted directly to his brain.  Check for rings. Check for rings!  No rings!  Hallelujah! 

“Rick Steps!” Her smile was warm, sincere, and disarming as she took hold of his elbow and pulled her toward him. 

“Chrissie, you are as beautiful as the day we graduated.” He was astounded that he had been able to speak, especially without stammering.  I must be on attorney auto pilot, he thought.

Her smile broadened as she clasped his hand tightly. Leaning into him, she whispered in his ear, “We have to talk later.  Please find me.”

A bit taken back, Rick nodded weakly and said, “I will… for sure.” Her hand guided him to the next welcomer who delivered a warm handshake and welcome, before pushing him to the next and then the next. 

It was over! Just like that. It was over! After stopping off at the bar for a whiskey sour, he drifted into the spacious dining area where several former classmates ignored him. That was okay, because he really didn’t recognize any of them.  The uncomfortable feeling he had while standing in line returned as he realized that this was probably the worst idea he had ever had in his life.  Who was I kidding? I really didn’t know anyone in high school.  Why would I expect anyone to recognize me?  But Chrissie did!  How? Why? Later, I’ll find her and we’ll talk.

All around the room, conversations buzzed and classmates laughed. He overheard people saying, “Remember when…”

God, this is ridiculous! He was hot; perspiration reappeared on his forehead. He dabbed it again while leaning against a wall. An interminable five minutes passed. Okay, that’s it.  I’m out of here! 

He set his empty glass on a circular server’s table as he hurriedly walked to the top of the grand staircase.  Five steps down, he heard a voice call.

“Rick, wait!”  Chrissie Manuess, wearing what he deemed to be a very concerned look, rushed down the stairway and placed a hand on his shoulder. They stood, looking at each other for several moments before she spoke again.

“Please, we need to talk. I’ve waited too long for this, and I suspect you have as well.”  She waited for him to speak. 

It was exactly like high school again.  He swallowed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.  As his breathing quickened and perspiration speckled his brow, he turned to leave.

“No, that’s not going to happen again!” Her grip tightened around his shoulder, stopping his momentum. “I’ll walk outside with you. I have something I need to tell you.” Her tone was earnest; her look was serious.

Rick was experiencing what he perceived to be an asthma attack. He used all of his willpower to fight it, but it was overwhelming his body and sapping his strength.

As he reached the bottom of the stairway with Chrissie’s support, he panted, “I’m sorry, I have to sit down, now. I can’t breath.” The concerned look on her face was evident as she helped him sit on one of the sofas near the restrooms.

She left him, saying, “I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the kitchen area, returning within twenty-seconds with a paper bag. “Breathe into this.” He accepted the bag and began breathing into it.  His lungs seemed to loosen as his pulse dropped and he became noticeably cooler.

“You look a hundred percent better,” Chrissie said through a sympathetic smile.

He laughed lightly.  “Thanks, I don’t know why this happened. I uh, uh…”

“It’s okay. I think I know,” she said. He gave her a puzzled look.

“You know why it happened?  Are you a physician now?”

“No, not at all, but I can recognize a nervous reaction when I see one.”

He started to protest, but stopped and stared into her face.  She exhibited the most empathetic expression he had ever witnessed. As he began to say something she shook her head and stopped him.

“Years ago, when I threw my ring to the floor in high school, I didn’t realize how extremely shy and unconfident you really were.  When you turned back to your locker and never said anything more to me, I was heartbroken, and angry. Years later, after I had married and had a child who was so hidden within himself, I thought of you, and how that’s why you probably were the way you were.  I educated myself and eventually helped my son overcome his shyness.  He’s now an attorney, like you. That’s why I wanted to speak to you tonight before you left.  I wanted to thank you for helping me understand my own son.” 

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him.

He stared back in wonder, and then asked, “Would you like to return to the reunion and talk some more?”

She shook her head no.

He slumped and sighed as his head dropped slightly.

She said, “I’d rather leave here with you and go someplace quiet where we could really talk.”

He nearly cried with joy as he said, “I’d love to.”

She grasped his hand as they walked to his Audie R8 Spyder.