The Wanderer

Three

Cooper learned a few things about the town and Ben. Ben had helped Gina keep her old Jeep running, for one thing, and never charged her except for parts. He’d bought ads for the backs of kids’ soccer and Little League team jerseys—Bailey’s Bait Shop. He had a bird sanctuary on his land that stretched all the way out to the high, rocky cliffs above the ocean. In addition to the eagles, there were seabirds who lived off the water but returned inland to nest, mate and lay eggs. Cooper remembered Ben emailing him something about that, more than once.

Ben apparently hadn’t done particularly social things, like volunteer as assistant coach for kids’ teams, but he attended town gatherings and meetings and ate out at the diner and Cliffhanger’s. He contributed a lot, not the least of which was the beach. This was the Ben that Cooper had known—not shy or antisocial, but satisfied with his own company. He hadn’t had a long career in the Army, just a few years. As Coop’s helicopter mechanic at Fort Rucker, he was meticulous and verged on extraordinary, but he had issues with rules, probably one of the reasons Cooper took to him. “Bailey, where’s your hat?” “In my pocket, sir!” “Why isn’t it on your head?” “Because I can’t get my head in my pocket, sir!”

He learned the marina was small in comparison to others in the region. The crabbers and fishermen who docked there lived in the town, but took most of their catch to larger harbors, although they kept some of it to sell to locals or to Cliffhanger’s. Some of the commercial fishermen had been in business for generations. The marina also held sport and pleasure boats, mostly used by Thunder Point’s residents. The bay was a safe, quiet place, protected by the promontories from hostile weather.

When Cooper parted ways with Mac after his breakfast, he said, “I don’t think there’s much reason for me to hang around, except maybe the view from Ben’s deck. What will happen to his place?”

Mac shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe there will be a search for a next of kin, or maybe it’ll sit until it’s in default of liens or taxes, then auctioned. That’s not Sheriff’s Department business. Damn shame, though. People enjoyed the beach, the bar.”

“It’s pretty run-down,” Cooper pointed out.

“If you think the outside is a little tired-looking, you should see inside. Well, people didn’t have real high expectations of the place, but it served a purpose. You may have noticed, it’s not a fancy town.”

Mac already had Cooper’s cell number, but in a gesture of friendliness, he gave Cooper his before they said goodbye at the diner.

Since Cooper had no plans or pressing business, he spent a couple of days just driving around the area—up to Coos Bay, into the hills, to the casino in North Bend—keeping his trailer as a home base. One sunny afternoon, he got out his laptop and found a chair on Ben’s deck, facing the bay. In just a few days, he’d come to the conclusion the damp, foggy morning was typical of the Oregon Coast. Sunshine usually arrived midmorning, at the latest, but it was cold enough this October afternoon to require a jacket. Before he opened his laptop and logged on, he saw her again—the woman and her dog. She threw the stick and waited for the large black-and-white dog to bring it back. The dog had the longest legs; he was half as tall as the woman. It was the same woman—red slicker with the hood up, black knee-high rubber boots, hands plunged into her pockets while she waited for the dog. She was walking toward his end of the beach, but before she was close enough for him to get a glimpse of her face, she turned and headed back toward the town.

He logged on, checking his email, looking up from time to time to watch the progress of the woman and dog. She was too far away for him to be taken by her looks, but he was intrigued nonetheless. There was something about her that was so...lonely. They probably had that in common. Cooper had no trouble getting to know people or making friends, yet he rarely did. He was a loner; he knew that about himself. It didn’t take much to turn a man solitary—being the new guy too often, being controversial now and then, a couple of unsuccessful attempts at a lasting relationship with a woman....

He sent a note to Luke Riordan—they’d been a scrappy pair of combat-ready helicopter pilots fifteen years ago and Ben had been their mechanic. Not too surprisingly, Ben had been the most stable of the threesome. So Cooper filled Luke in on the details of Ben’s death. Cooper described the property, the beach, the town and the fact that Ben’s place might end up just being auctioned.

Then he emailed his father and his oldest sister, Rochelle, to tell them where he was, although his cell was working just fine and they could reach him if there was any family business. His parents and three married sisters lived in or near Albuquerque. When he could, he made short visits to New Mexico, but he didn’t spend a lot of time there. Cooper was close to his family, but their relationship was complicated. There was a part of him that felt he’d failed them by never settling down, marrying, having a family and a stable career...and there was a part of him that thought they’d had unreasonable expectations and tried to push him in directions he wasn’t capable of going.

He heard an engine from the highway far above. He shut down and closed his laptop. Leaving it on the chair, he walked around the deck and witnessed an old pickup come down the road from 101. Even before he saw the driver, he knew this must be Rawley. The truck was ancient enough to be a classic, but the engine ran smooth. That had to be Ben’s work. The tires were new and shiny, cleaned and buffed to new-car life.

Then the guy parked and got out—yes, had to be Rawley. He was a skinny, balding, grizzled man in his sixties, looking pretty worn-out, and he wore an American flag shirt with his old jeans. He had a scarf or rag bandanna tied around his head and a gray ponytail, circa the sixties. He walked right up to Cooper.

Cooper stuck out his hand. “Rawley?” he asked.

The man’s expression didn’t even change. Rather than shaking Cooper’s hand, he put a thick envelope in his grasp. Then he turned to go back to his truck.

“Hey,” Cooper said. “What’s this?”

But Rawley kept walking and Cooper kept watching him. When Rawley got back to his truck, he didn’t get in. He leaned against the passenger side, crossed his legs leisurely, arms folded over his chest. He gave a nod and waited.

Cooper opened the envelope and pulled out a thick document, folded in thirds. When he unfolded it, he found a will that had been drawn up by Lawrence Carnegie, Attorney-at-Law. It was pages long. But on top was a lime-green sticky note that said, “Take care of things, Coop.”

He looked up at Rawley. “He wants me to take care of this?”

Rawley rolled his eyes as if to say, Right, stupid. What did the note say?

Cooper glanced through the document quickly. He’d assumed that Ben wanted him as executor, but it took about two seconds to see that Ben was leaving this place to him. Looking a little further, it appeared that included the structure and the land. And the beach? The document was four pages of legalese. There was probably something in here that explained special conditions of some kind, but that was going to take a closer, slower look. Meanwhile, he became aware of a key inside the envelope.

“To the bar?” he asked Rawley.

Again Rawley rolled his eyes, saying nothing.

Cooper almost eye-rolled him right back. But he took the key in one hand and the document in the other and walked around the deck to the ocean side, where he slipped it into the lock on a set of double doors that could open wide onto the deck. The seal on the doors was good, probably to protect against heavy storms or tsunamis. He pulled open the door and was immediately assaulted by the foulest smell he’d ever encountered. Hadn’t they said Ben had been buried? Because this smell was worse than a rotting body. It took about three steps into the bar/bait shop to realize they had septic issues, combined with what smelled like rotting fish and maybe garbage. The electricity had been turned off. He yelled, “Rawley!”

The response he got was the sound of a truck. Departing.

* * *

An hour later, Cooper placed a call to Mac’s cell phone. It was late afternoon now and the sun was shining, which did not cheer Cooper. It not only helped cook the smells in the bar/bait shop but also brought people out to the beach, walking dogs, nosing around or jogging. It was too chilly for swimming or picnicking. At the sight of someone opening doors and windows at Ben’s place, a few brave souls came close, curious. By the time they made it to the deck, they covered their noses and retreated. Quickly.

“Mac,” Cooper said into the phone. “Boy, do I have a situation.”

“What’s up?”

“Start with, Rawley brought me what seems to be a will. It’ll have to be verified, but it looks in order. Ben left this place to me.”

“Whoa. Did you see that coming?”

“He never even hinted at such a thing. Second, there was a key and I went inside. Holy mother of God, there are too many rotten things in there to count. The electricity was turned off and his bait tank is full of dead fish, stagnant, moldy water and God knows what all. And I’m pretty sure I smell septic backup. I have the doors and windows open, but the place is impenetrable. Do you know anyone? Like maybe a crime-scene cleanup crew? Or something?”

“There’s a flood and environmental cleanup company up in North Bend. Also a hazardous chemical cleanup crew up there.”

Cooper couldn’t stop a cough. “Oh, yeah, definitely some hazardous chemicals in there. Got a number?”

“Let me call ’em,” Mac said. “I’ll book the first available slot for an estimate. You planning on cleaning it up?”

“It’s not how I planned my week, but someone has to do it. I wouldn’t count on Rawley. He handed me the will and a key and took off like a bat out of hell.”

Mac laughed.

“Come out here and take a deep breath and then laugh, sucker,” Cooper said. “We might need a wrecking crew if the smell can’t be conquered.”

“I think I will come out. I mean, I’m curious. Let me make a couple of calls on the way.”

To keep from inhaling poisonous gases, Cooper took up residence on the dock. Even there, he could smell it. He was not entirely surprised when he caught sight of the Sheriff’s Department SUV coming at him, not from the road but right across the beach.

Mac pulled up to the dock and got out. He was wearing his uniform.

“You working?” Cooper asked.

“I’m pretty much always working, but I don’t drive the company car unless I’m in uniform. It’s for official business only. We have rules.” He looked up the steps to the bar and wrinkled his nose. “Hoo, boy.”

“Tell me about it. I never took Ben for a prankster. ‘Here, I’m leaving you all my worldly goods, but you might have to torch it all.’”

“You think the will is legit?” Mac asked.

Cooper pulled a thick document folded into thirds out of his back pocket and handed it to Mac. “You know Lawrence Carnegie?”

“Yup. He’s a lawyer in town. He takes care of some local stuff. I guess Ben hired him.”

“Appears so. I gotta say, I never expected anything like this. Don’t you tell someone if you’re planning to do something like this?”

Mac shrugged. “I have a will and I haven’t told anyone the details, mainly because I don’t want my kids thinking if they kill me in my sleep they’ll get a car or something. My aunt Lou, who’s in charge anyway, is the executor. And hell, I don’t even have anything worth leaving. Do you have a will?”

“Nothing fancy,” he said. “I have savings. It’ll be divided between my nieces and nephews if there’s anything left when I go—I was thinking it could help with college. And no, I never told anyone.”

Mac was flipping through the few pages. “I think I can explain Ben’s reasoning, or at least the history behind this place. Ben’s father was kind of old when Ben came back to Thunder Point. He was sick, had a stroke. That was right before I was transferred here. He was failing.”

“I remember, Ben got out of the Army ten years ago or so to help his dad,” Cooper said. “I heard something about a store here. Obviously he wasn’t real specific....”

“Well, everything was transferred into Ben’s name so that several years later, when his dad passed, there was no will, no probate, and most important, no tax issues.”

Cooper put his hands in his pockets. “How would you know something like that?”

“Purely gossip, I’m afraid,” Mac said. “The talk is that when the old man passed, there were a lot of interested buyers who assumed these hicks who ran a run-down bait shop and bar hadn’t prepared for the worst. The land is worth some money, Cooper. If there hadn’t been a trust or a transfer, the inheritance tax alone could’ve foreclosed Ben, forced him to sell. You know, there are a bunch of little moth-eaten towns around here, but we also have big resorts, the kind that host PGA tournaments or world-class hunting and draw some big money. And this area, oceanfront and five miles of natural beauty to the freeway, is prime for something like that. Something that could improve local economy. There are lots of people in town who wanted Ben to let it go. And, hey, you coming into the property...that might make people happy, assuming you’ll just sell it.”

Cooper reached into his pocket and pulled out the sticky note that had been attached to the will. Take care of things, Coop. He passed it to Mac. “That sound like he wants me to sell it?”

Mac handed it right back. “Listen, Cooper, I know he was a friend, but unless the two of you had some kind of understanding, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Why didn’t he just leave it to Rawley?”

“Oh, I think that’s pretty obvious. Rawley’s a little off-kilter, if you get my drift. Besides, I don’t think they were like brothers or anything—Ben was helping him out, that’s all. Ben did more for Rawley in the past few years than anyone has done for him in the last twenty-five.”

“Well, jeez. This just keeps getting more complicated. Do you suppose he’s one of the things I’m supposed to take care of?”

“No telling, pal. But I’ve got a cleanup crew coming out first thing tomorrow to give you an estimate. If you like the price, they can start right away.”

Cooper gave him an incredulous look. “Did you smell that place? Is it even possible the price could be too high?”

Mac laughed. “My aunt Lou is getting ready to burn some dinner. Why don’t you lock the place up and join us. You can’t get anything done around here tonight.”

“Dinner?” Cooper asked. He gave a long, dubious look at that road leading up to 101. It was bad enough in daylight.

“I’ll give you a ride across the beach. And bring you back tonight.”

“I thought you had rules,” Cooper said.

“We do. If anyone stops me or asks questions, you’ll have to act arrested.”

“Well, hell, you just stumbled on one of my special talents.”

* * *

Dinner at the McCain house was served in a large, warm kitchen. Three kids, three adults sat at a big round table, two Labrador retrievers standing watch near the back door. Cooper shoveled the last of his spaghetti into his mouth and then wiped his plate with a piece of garlic bread. As it was on its way to his mouth, he noticed that five sets of eyes were on him. He realized he’d eaten like a starving man, chuckled and tossed the bread onto his plate.

“There’s more,” Lou said.

“Sorry. But that was seriously delicious.”

Lou laced her fingers together and, elbows braced on the table, said, “I guess you don’t get out much.”

“I eat real well. It’s Mac’s fault. He tried to lower my expectations by saying you were burning some dinner.”

“Isn’t he cute? That he thinks he has a sense of humor?” Lou said, lifting one shapely eyebrow.

“May I be excused?” Eve asked. “Ashley is coming over.”

“Sure,” Lou said. “Ryan and Dee Dee, your night for cleanup. I’ll give your dad and Mr. Cooper coffee in the living room.”

“Aw,” Ryan whined. “Prison Break is on! Come on, Aunt Lou...”

“Sorry, I have Designing Women reruns to watch in my room.” Then she looked at Mac. “When did he outgrow cartoons?”

Instead of answering, Mac leaned toward Ryan. “You boning up for a prison break or working yourself into a corrections officer’s slot?”

“It’s awesome, Dad, they’re just so stupid.”

“I know. It’s my job security,” Mac said.

“Dishes,” Lou said, standing with a plate in each hand.

“I’d be glad to help,” Cooper said quietly. “I’m much better at dishes than cooking.”