Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 28

The Millbury boat ramp parking lot was deserted. I wasn't surprised - in less than twelve hours December would arrive with its frosty gales and nose-biting chill. The water stretched sullenly in flat, dull grey. I walked over to the asphalt boat ramp, looking down into the shallows. In the summer there would be a school of tiny, silvery minnows gathered here, eager for bits of bread or crackers to nibble on. Now only gravel and silt lay there, motionless, still.

I squatted down by the water's edge to stir a small whirlpool with my finger. The water was chill, maybe 40°F. I stood and pulled my parka close around my neck. At least there was no wind, but the air was crisp. My breath had a delicate tracery of white puff lining its edges.

At last Adam pulled into the lot in his marlin blue Santa Fe, trailering a small wooden rowboat behind. The boat was clean and looked well cared for, with a white body and natural wood trim on the edges. Adam deftly backed his vehicle up to the ramp and eased the rowboat into the water. When he was in position he jumped out to hand me the tow line before finishing the release. In a moment he had parked the car and was holding the boat so I could climb in.

Once I had settled myself onto the back seat he joined me, one arm cradling a large bouquet of wildflowers. He placed them reverentially in the center of the small wooden craft. The aroma drifted up around me, of daisy and goldenrod and something crisp.

He gave a push with his oar and we were gliding through the water, moving through the narrow inlet and toward the lake proper.

I slid my hand into my pocket, feeling the reassuring presence of my cell phone there. Jason had been less than thrilled with my plans and had made me promise to keep my cell on me at all times. He was deep in the middle of his training event and would not be free for another hour. By then an ebony darkness would have immersed us.

Adam smiled at me as he worked the oars, turning us right to head out into the main lake. As they said in Ireland, the day was soft. A gentle mist added an ethereal glow to the water's surface. The setting sun was drifting toward the horizon, its shimmering golden wash reflecting off the tiny water droplets in the air.

Adam's voice creaked out of the mists. "I only know what John told me, of course," he murmured. "Still, I think I have a sense of where to go. In any case I am sure Eileen will appreciate our efforts, as clumsy as they might be."

"I'm sure she will," I assured him.

He rowed in silence, drawing us out toward the center of the lake. It was immensely serene. A small flock of mallards flew across our heads toward the south, but otherwise nothing stirred on the lake. There was no sign of life from the shore. I was beginning to understand how Eileen had slipped from life all those years ago. It was like being in another world.

Adam pulled in the oars, settling them into their metal rests. We were about centered now equidistant from the various shores. The mist ebbed and swirled around us, sometimes hiding the twinkling lights of docks, at other times washing them into a muted glow. Marion's Camp, to the far south, was a distant blur on the shore.

Adam leant forward carefully, his thin frame balanced in the boat. He took up the flowers and looked at them for a long moment.

"For Eileen, a precious jewel amongst women. With hair of spun sunshine, with a laugh of a thousand dancing butterflies. A soul which warmed the world and a heart which knew no boundaries. We will always love her and miss her."

He made a gentle sweeping motion with his hand, strewing the flowers in a shimmering cascade across the waters. They floated, delicately, speckling the surface, turning the area near the boat into a radiant meadow.